


Returns (Part 1)

by DarthAstris



Series: Returns [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gore, Honestly it's all the triggers, I'm not fucking around, M/M, Rape, Returns-verse, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-09-16 01:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9267647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthAstris/pseuds/DarthAstris
Summary: No one had bothered him upon his solo return to the Finalizer.  No one had arrested him on sight or come for him in the middle of the night as he’d expected.  Counting the two days it had taken them to rendezvous with the Finalizer after the destruction of Starkiller Base, he'd been awake for almost 120 consecutive hours.  He was used to long, restless nights, but he hadn’t been kept awake by this kind of anxiety-laden watchfulness since his academy days.  Then again, Hux hadn’t slept alone for some years now, and sharing a bed with the galaxy’s second-most wanted man had its benefits.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
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>  I'mma warn you now. I'm not kidding about this being gross as fuck. (Chapter 4 is where it starts, and it really takes off in Chapter 7, and it's only getting worse from there.) Turn back now if torture/non-con isn't your thing.
> 
> There is kylux, but it will be looooong in coming. So stick around for the hurt/comfort if you like, but the comfort will also be looooooong in coming.  
>   
>   
>   
>   
> Part 3 has begun its regularly scheduled updating! ^___^ Thank you for all your support, kudos, and comments! (I love comments, so bring it on! XD)

Hux rolled over and squinted at the chrono on the night stand, the red display blurred by his bleary-eyed sleeplessness.  _04:27_

No one had bothered him upon his solo return to the _Finalizer_.  No one had arrested him on sight or come for him in the middle of the night as he’d expected.  Counting the two days it had taken them to rendezvous with the _Finalizer_ after the destruction of Starkiller Base, he'd been awake for almost 120 consecutive hours.  He was used to long, restless nights, but he hadn’t been kept awake by this kind of anxiety-laden watchfulness since his academy days.  Then again, Hux hadn’t slept alone for some years now, and sharing a bed with the galaxy’s second-most wanted man had its benefits.

With several hours yet to spare before his morning shift, the first since he'd returned, Hux pulled himself from the warmth of his sheets and padded over to the closet to select a fresh uniform.  His greatcoat had come out of the launderer still smelling of soot and pine and Kylo’s burned flesh, so he’d tossed it in for another cycle before giving up on it.  He would check on it again before he left.

He showered, taking his time and letting the hot water sooth some of the pent-up tension in his neck and shoulders, and caught himself from tipping into sleep just in time.  Splashing some water on his face, he scrubbed harder than usual, both to help him wake up and to get that damned smell out of his skin.  _It's been over three days now, why is that charred smell so hard to remove?_ Only now did it occur to him that he hadn't noticed that scent down on Jakku when he'd investigated the wreckage of the stolen TIE.  Just one more shortsighted _frackup_ in a growing list of _frackups_ he'd paid for later, and was undoubtedly going to continue paying for. Miserable and exhausted, he stepped out and got dried off and dressed.  The greatcoat was still not as fresh as he'd have preferred, but it would suffice.

Even though he was leaving his quarters half an hour early, Lieutenant Mitaka was ready and waiting by his door in an impeccably pressed uniform and with Hux’s morning tumbler of Tarine tea.  Mitaka was most assuredly not Force-sensitive, but Hux was convinced the young man could read his mind.  That, or he had a hidden camera in Hux's quarters. No matter what time he left his quarters for his shift, Mitaka was always there to escort him to the bridge, filling him in on the previous shifts’ reports as they walked.

“Good morning, sir.” Mitaka couldn’t salute, due to carrying his datapad and a fistful of flimsiplast reports in one hand and Hux’s cup in the other, but he snapped to attention at the general’s appearance.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”  Hux nodded as he turned off the "Do Not Disturb" restriction from his door panel and accepted the cup.  He took a deep draught of the steaming, bitter drink before sighing and starting to walk. “Alright, let me have it.”

Mitaka had organized the reports in order of importance, but his hands fluttered through them nervously nonetheless.  Hux trusted Mitaka with his career, and by extension, his life.  He could say that about very few individuals.  He might have even been fond of the young man, and he could say that about even fewer.  On the other hand, he wondered if Mitaka was ever going to get used to his presence enough to stop being so awkward and flustered around him.

Hux walked in silence, looking over each of Mitaka’s reports in turn, except when fellow officers stopped to salute and greet him in passing.  Their expressions were businesslike as always, though Hux thought he detected a hint of trepidation in some of their glances.  If they knew something he didn't, they were good at hiding it.  Hux was still alive, though for how long was anyone's guess. He assumed the only reason he was still here and not demoted or dead was that Snoke either hadn't yet read Hux's full report on the unfortunate incident on Starkiller Base, or simply didn't care about the loss of the Starkiller weapon in the grander scheme of things.

During the two days of countless hyperspace jumps it had taken them to meet up with the _Finalizer,_ he and Ren had had some of the most intense arguments of their volatile, 4-year relationship.  For some ridiculous reason, Ren had come to believe that the girl (the one who'd caused this whole mess to begin with) was his long-lost sister, and he wanted to join her, along with his wayward uncle, to team up against Snoke. Ren was convinced that the Supreme Leader would execute them both for their failures, and wanted Hux to defect along with him, but Hux had no intention of deserting the First Order in their finest hour. Even though the Starkiller weapon had been destroyed, it _had_ served its purpose (and Hux had been secretly loathe to fire it again anyway; there was no need for such unnecessary loss of life with the war already won). The New Republic was in shambles without its precious Senate, and the majority of its fleet had been obliterated along with it. Snoke himself hadn't seemed too put out about the whole affair, even telling Hux to bring Ren to him for "completion of his training" (whatever that meant), which Hux reminded Ren of at least six times.

In the end Ren had relented, but insisted he return to his master alone, despite his still serious injuries, and dropped Hux off in the hangar bay of the _Finalizer_.  And for some stupid, sentimental reason, which Hux still could not fathom, he'd let him go.  He wished, now, that he hadn't.

Since the moment the command shuttle had departed, Hux had lived in mortal terror of his own imminent demise and had to constantly talk himself down with logic and reason. He might not think very highly of himself in most regards, but he was a brilliant strategist and technical designer, and the First Order _needed_ him.  Snoke would no more waste resources than Hux himself would. Although, as much as he hated to admit it, he felt much bolder with Kylo at his side, even when they were at odds with each other.  Kylo's arguments had seemed foolhardy until Hux found himself on his own.

Hux finished with the reports and handed them back (along with the empty cup) to Mitaka, tugging on the hem of his tunic to straighten his uniform once more.  He stepped onto the bridge with three minutes to spare before his assigned shift began.  Ensign Kante announced his presence, and he returned the salutes of the crew and the OIC as he reported for duty. He was surprised to see Admiral Doran standing at the viewport, hands on her hips and a smug smile on her face.

"Admiral Doran," Hux tilted his chin a grade higher, "Apologies. Had I known you were aboard I would have--"

"Had you seen fit to attend your duties, you'd have known I was aboard. Dispense with the pleasantries, Hux--"

His lip twitched into a fleeting sneer at her interruption and the fact that she should have addressed him by rank, especially in front of his crew.

"--you know why I'm here."

Frowning, Hux glanced toward Mitaka; in fact, he had no idea why this insufferable woman was on his ship, and since Mitaka hadn't informed him of her presence, it was safe to assume he hadn't been told either.  The lieutenant gave him a sheepish, confused look.

"I confess, I have no idea what brings you to my bridge this morning."

"Really?" she snorted, "You thought that allowing the destruction of the First Order's greatest expenditure would go unnoticed by High Command? You're even more laughable and useless than we suspected."

Hux bristled at that particular insult.  She knew.  _Everyone_ knew the things his father had said about him.  It was a calculated jab, and one he would not let pass.

"How dare you--"

"Armitage Hux, under direction of the High Command and Supreme Leader Snoke, I hereby strip you of your rank and command, and place you and your executive officer under arrest for treason."

"Supreme Leader-- Treason? You can't--" he sputtered, barely able to construct a complete sentence in his fury, "How-- What could _possibly_ bring you to that conclusion?"

"Sergeant, escort them to the brig."

Mitaka's eyes widened at the approach of the two Stormtroopers and he backed away from his station, hands up.

"Damn you, Doran. You know damned well Lieutenant Mitaka has nothing to do with any of this.  There is no reason to ruin his career over your pathetic power grab."

"That's for the ISB to decide."

Mitaka looked as though he might go for his blaster, so Hux looked him in the eye and gave him an almost imperceptible shake of his head.  Raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, Mitaka allowed the troopers to arrest him.

"You _will_ regret this," Hux snarled at the admiral as two Stormtroopers came forward to grab him by the arms. "Unhand me! I know how to walk!" He jerked away and strode ahead, grumbling, "I'll not be dragged off my own bridge like some common criminal."  Two more guards fell into place in front of him, boxing him in.  With his head high and indignant fury in his eyes, Hux marched himself to the brig and into a cell.  It was the same cell that had once held the Resistance pilot who later escaped with the help of that traitorous Stormtrooper, FN-2187.  _How droll._


	2. Chapter 2

Hux looked far more incensed than his officers or troops had ever seen him, but it was just another mask to hide the rising tide of fear within him.  Blood pounded through his temples and he felt faint as he took a seat on one of the bare, metal bunks.  He had at least expected Mitaka's company in the cold cell, but the guards activated the ray shield to lock Hux in and continued past him with Mitaka in tow.

"Where are you taking him?"

The officer on duty, Lt. Commander Savrin, explained, "He's to be interviewed first." Savrin hesitated then added a curt, "Sir."

 _That's right, you had better._ Hux thought. _I won't be in here for long.  And there will be a reckoning when I get out._   He had a feeling his crew knew that, and would continue to show a modicum of respect toward him despite his recent... miscalculations.  After all, unlike some commanders, he had always behaved respectfully and professionally toward his subordinates.  An appropriate level of familiarity, just shy of friendship, existed between them and it had gone a long way toward earning their loyalty and trust when everyone first suspected he’d been promoted by virtue of nepotism alone.

"And what, then?"

"Supreme Leader Snoke is due to arrive this evening for a personal debriefing with you... Sir."

"The Supreme Leader is coming here?" Hux leapt to his feet, brain already in work mode, and reached behind himself to the clip on his belt where his datapad usually hung. It had been confiscated, of course.  He wasn't in charge anymore.  He was a prisoner now.  This would take some time getting used to -- hopefully, he wouldn't have to.  He clenched his fists, for lack of anything better to do with his hands, and sat down again.  He took a deep breath and exhaled it forcefully.  "If you would, please, Lieutenant Commander Savrin, ensure that Captain Opan is placed in charge of the reception committee.  The Supreme Leader has been pleased with his arrangements in the past."

"I'll see it done, sir." Savrin took out his own datapad and tapped at it for a while, presumably sending along Hux's orders to the relevant parties.

"Thank you, Savrin."  Hux's leg twitched in agitation.  He couldn't tolerate being sat here with nothing to do.  Curling his fists in his lap, he kept his posture straight to ward off further agitation of his nerves as well as the temptation to fall asleep.  He didn't allow his thoughts to drift to the Supreme Leader or his imminent visit, chances were, they were already being monitored by Snoke for hints of deception.  Hux couldn't tell if his vague sense of queasiness were due to Snoke sifting through his thoughts already or just general anxiety over his situation. _Better to play it safe._ He focused his mind on work, and on everything that still needed to be done in the aftermath of the Starkiller fiasco.  

In his mind, he continued as though he still held his lofty position, ignoring Admiral Doran's ridiculous claims to have him stripped of his rank and command.  He didn't believe that Leader Snoke would allow her to follow through on that; not only could that woman not lead a Firaxan shark to blood, Hux had been promised greatness by the Supreme Leader himself.  Snoke would make him Emperor in return for his efficiency in destroying the Republic, and he had done just that.  _Well, a_ _lmost._   There was just the matter of moving on Chandrila, the last Republic holdout, for a quick and tidy clean-up operation. 

Though Kylo's words had haunted him at first, he felt much calmer now, even locked in a cell as he was. 

Hux wanted the First Order to succeed no matter his particular lot in it, and he would never betray it. Surely the Supreme Leader would know that to be true, and would release him and Mitaka so that they could return to duty immediately and see this through to victory. Whether Kylo had followed his master's orders or not had nothing to do with him. Ren had always done as he pleased; it would be unfair of Snoke to expect Hux to have any responsibility for his apprentice's actions. Although, he _had_ been ordered to bring the knight to Snoke personally, and for that minor oversight he would have to accept culpability.

He shook his head, putting Kylo out of mind for the moment.  What the dark Jedi got up to in his own time was of no concern to him. 

Or so he told himself.

He wished he'd had his datapad, but it was almost as effective to organize the documents and necessary correspondence in his thoughts.  Hux had developed an elaborate internal system for compartmentalizing every detail he committed to memory. It would just be a matter of typing it all up when he got out.  Doran would be sorry she'd had him locked up and wasted his, and everyone else's, time.  He always knew that one day this would happen, though; the Navy resented an Army general being in charge of their flagship.  They thought he didn't deserve this post, no matter how loyal his own mixed-service crew was, and no matter that he'd never made a tactical error until four days ago.  Part of the reason he'd chosen the young Lieutenant Mitaka as his right-hand man was to help smooth the divide between service branches.  Mitaka had graduated at the top of his class, and had held that position all five years throughout his academy career, just as Hux had.  He was the only student in any branch of service to have even come close to Hux's number of academy records.  Hux hoped he was holding up alright under the ISB's questioning.  Truly, Mitaka knew nothing about this whole sordid affair, and Hux hoped that they would soon see that and leave him be.

Already his first 4-hour shift had passed.  The protesting of his stomach told him it must be about 13:00 ship's time, though he hadn't yet seen any droids come around delivering meals.  Hux rarely ate breakfast, preferring the pique of his hunger to give him an edge on the morning shift, and he didn't eat much for lunch either, but he always ate on time.  Sometime around the second shift change bell Hux smelled the distinct aroma of the protein mash that was served to the troopers and cadets.  The bland scent took him back to the loneliness of his academy days: sitting by himself at the end of the long cafeteria tables with only his datapad and classroom texts to keep him company.

He took advantage of the privacy afforded by the brief absence of the guards to use the fresher in the corner of his cell and wash up before mealtime.

He could hear the whirring of the service droid as it trundled down the hall, distributing trays of the gray mush to prisoners through specialized breaks in the force fields.  Hux stood by to receive his, but the droid continued past his cell as if he weren't there.  "Hey!" he yelled after it, but it maintained its course, ignoring him.

 _So this is the game Doran wants to play.  Alright.  It's not_ _as though_ _I haven_ _’t_ _gone without before_.  His lip curled in irritation as he sat back down.

A few moments later, two troopers appeared, dragging a drugged and unresponsive Mitaka between them.  His cap sat askew atop disheveled, dark strands of hair.  Tears streaked his pale cheeks.  He had vomited several times, tracks of sick marring the front of his tunic, which hung open to reveal a sweat-stained undershirt.  Hux caught himself frowning in disdain at these signs of weakness and softened his expression before Mitaka noticed.

_What in blazes is wrong with you? Don't take it out on him._

The troops ordered Hux to stand back (which he obeyed) and tossed Mitaka in.  Once they had departed, Hux knelt beside the young man, helping him to his feet and to the bunk across from his.  He recognized the signs of the drug immediately, having endured mild doses of it during SERE training, and more severe administrations at the hands of his father. 

The ISB were extremely efficient at finding out what they wanted to know.  Whoever had done this to Mitaka hadn't thought they'd get any relevant information out of him.  They'd done it to frighten Hux.  Otherwise they'd have let him go, relatively unharmed, and not thrown him back into the same cell.

But Hux wasn't afraid.  He was livid that they would stoop to using Mitaka this way.

Hux became even more furious at Mitaka's involuntary reaction to his attempt to remove his tunic.  The lieutenant panicked and flailed out at him weakly, whimpering and begging incoherently.  It seemed he, too, had endured the unwanted attentions of his classmates during his academy days.  That was something that no one deserved, let alone this intelligent, polite, and lonely young man who had come to serve him so well over the years.  A pang of sympathy tightened his chest.

"Dopheld, it's alright.  It's me.  I won't hurt you."

Mitaka was shivering, from cold or fear Hux couldn't tell, but at the sound of his commander's voice he stopped resisting.  Hux scooted aside as Mitaka heaved again, but he had apparently disgorged everything in his stomach already.

"You've been drugged with Serum 7; the pain is going to come soon.  I have to get you out of your clothes, alright?"  Hux remembered that feeling well: first the nausea that seemed it wouldn't stop until you had heaved your entrails out, then the bitter chills that were accompanied by searing pain at the lightest of touches.  You wanted to curl up under layers and layers of warm blankets, but even the feel of your own skin set fire to your nerves.  Wearing any article of clothing was like being immersed in lava.

Mitaka nodded, fresh sobs escaping as Hux slid the jacket off his shoulders (careful not to get any of the mess on his own uniform).  He folded it over and set it aside, working quickly to take off Dopheld's boots, gloves, belt, and trousers.  Hux couldn't bear to divest him of his underclothes, given Mitaka's frantic response to being undressed.  "Can you do it yourself?"

He groaned his acknowledgement, glancing up at Hux. In the brief moment their eyes met, Hux saw the flash of understanding and the humiliation that followed as a fierce blush colored Mitaka's cheeks.

Hux shrugged off his greatcoat and held it up like a screen for Mitaka to have a bit of privacy.

After a few minutes the lieutenant stammered, "I-I'm done, s-sir."

Gently, Hux draped his coat over Mitaka.  Until the pain came he would want to be warm.  Dopheld curled into it, clutching it around himself, muttering, "Th-thank you, sir."

"Have you been through these symptoms before? At the academy?"

Mitaka nodded, his jaw clenched and his eyes squeezed shut to stop his tears.

"Alright.  When it starts to hurt I'll talk you through it."

Hux sat next to him on the bunk so that he could keep a close eye on him.  He kept his posture stiff and straight, lest his own constant, low-level pain become a bother.  Sitting or standing for too long always aggravated the nerve damage in his back, and it was already becoming an annoyance from having waited so long in the cell.  As usual, he'd forgotten to get up and move around while he had been consumed with thoughts of work, but pacing about now would probably further upset Mitaka.  His pain was minor compared to what the lieutenant was about to go through, so he put it out of mind, feeling weak and pathetic for having even acknowledged it.

Mitaka's shaking became more violent, rattling the metal frame of the bunk, but he stayed silent. Only the squeaking metal and his tremulous breaths broke the silence of the room.  Hux wanted to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he was uncertain if it would be welcome or not.  Hux himself didn't like to be touched under most circumstances.  Even the barest breath of an unexpected touch sometimes sent him back to those times at the academy -- those boys with their rough hands all over him while they took their turns inside him -- and given Mitaka's earlier response to disrobing, he wagered it reminded him of similar things, so he sat quietly until it was time to take the coat away.

When Hux finally went to pull the coat off of him, he cried out and clung to it even though it must have felt like the soft lining was excoriating his skin.

Hux loathed being the one to do this to him.  "I'm sorry, Dopheld, it has to come off.  It's only going to cause you more pain.  It's alright.  You'll be ok."

Mitaka breathed out an ironic sigh of relief as Hux took the coat away and laid it on his own bunk.  The lack of pressure on his bare flesh made a remarkable difference to his level of torment; however, the chill settled deep into his bones, making him tremble even more forcefully.  The general came to sit beside him once more.  Though Mitaka was grateful for his presence, he was mortified at being seen in this state by his mentor and idol.  At least he could be thankful that Hux seemed to intuit that he didn't want to be touched or looked at.

Hux sat with his back to Mitaka, his eyes averted save for the occasional glance over his shoulder to check on his XO.  He closed his eyes upon hearing Mitaka's pitiful whimpers, recalling his own embarrassing inability to stay silent throughout the mounting agony.  Hux found it difficult to remain in the here and now, telling himself that this was not going to happen to him again, that it _couldn't_.  Snoke was not going to allow this, and when Hux complained about the treatment of his protégé (which he had every intention of doing), Snoke would avenge him accordingly.

Judging by his stuttering, choked-off howls, the pain was breaking him sooner than it should have.  _They must have given him a higher dose than_ _the usual_.  

Hux spoke in a low, soothing tone, looking over his shoulder to make sure Mitaka was paying attention, "Dopheld, I need you to listen to me.  You don't have to answer; just listen." Hux thought back to how he'd overcome the relentless misery visited on him by the drug. "Remember your training. It's not going to stop the pain, but it will help you get through it. You have to focus on the future. Pain is only temporary. You _will_ live through this. It's only time passing. I know that you can pull through this because you've done it before." Hearing someone talk about positive thinking when you felt like your guts were turning inside out, and your skin was simultaneously burning and freezing, was probably irritating as hell, Hux thought, but it _had_ helped him through years of his father's abuse and the frequent bullying and assaults he'd endured at the academy. Dissociating wasn't necessarily a healthy way to deal with one's problems, but it worked, at least temporarily.  

Mitaka was still fighting, trying to choke back his cries.

"I know you have a secret place here on the ship -- people like us always find somewhere to hide. Someplace that's yours and yours alone. Someplace to feel safe. Relaxed. Focus on that place. Think about how it sounds.  How it smells.  How it feels.  You're there now. You're floating away from yourself and just watching this happen, as if it were happening to someone else. Your mind is safe somewhere else.  It's just one night. You can get through this. You'll be ok."

He nodded, comforted by Hux's words even if he couldn't quite follow through on them. His mind reeled at the thought of this agony continuing for a whole night, but he tried to keep to his training and put those thoughts aside, thinking of each moment passing as another moment closer to relief.

"There's no shame in crying out," Hux said after a while, knowing it was true even though he himself didn't really believe it.  His whole life, he had been taught the opposite.  Maintaining a cold, stoic exterior had been essential in pleasing his father; it hadn't necessarily reduced the amount of abuse he went through, but it often prevented additional torments being heaped on top of whatever he was already suffering.  Everyone had their breaking point, though, and Serum 6, 7, or 11 would bring someone to that point rather quickly.  They had endured a mere hour of each in training before the antidotes had been administered, but the worst effects could last up to 12 hours, ramping up over time, depending on the dosage.

As though permission were all he needed to let go, Mitaka let out a piercing wail.  The only thing that interrupted his screams were deep gasps, and, much later, the loss of his voice.  Hux sat for hours, his fists balled, eyes focused on the deck plates, trembling slightly as he tried to keep his need for sleep and his own dark recollections at bay.  As the hours passed, the stress of exhaustion combined with his XO's rasping shrieks wore away at his resolve, and Hux began to question his conviction that Snoke wouldn't have him tortured and executed.  But what could he do? Any attempt to escape would seal his fate for certain. And where would he go, anyway? What would he do with the rest of his life? His dreams?

In the end there was only his duty.  He had done it, and would continue to do it.  He had faced his fear of death many times in his career, and he had always overcome it.  As long as he remained calm and concealed his true thoughts under layers of protection, like Kylo had taught him, he was confident he could talk his way out of this as well.  He might be demoted and humiliated, but he was certain he couldn't be replaced.  He had developed Starkiller Base.  He had programed loyalty to the Order into the hearts and minds of every single soldier in their fleet.  He had organized that fleet into an unstoppable, unassailable force.  And he was capable of so much more.  Though his self-assessments tended to fall on the deprecating side, he knew that he was one of the sharpest minds the military had at their disposal.  Snoke _needed_ him.  The First Order _needed_ him.

 _I did everything expected of me, and more.  Ren does as he will.  He always has.  Husband or not, I'm not his keeper.  There is no reason to believe Snoke will harm or even suspect me in his absence.  Nor should he.  I'm only in this cell because of Doran's misguided attempt to seize power._ _He’ll be furious when he discovers what she’s done._

The sound of heavy footfalls snapped him out of his daze and he stood up, grunting at the sharp pain that lanced up his spine.  He pulled his greatcoat over his shoulders, picking at stray lint and smoothing it down, attempting to assume an air of authority before whoever it was arrived.  To his surprise and relief, four elite troopers stood before him, one barking a command to step back while another turned off the force field.  No officers had accompanied them.

Hux stood back as ordered. Once the ray shield was down, he lowered his voice and said, "Keyword: thranta. Activate Thesh Protocol: phase one."

"Thesh Protocol activated," all four troopers recited in unison, snapping to attention despite whatever internal desires they may have had. "Awaiting orders, sir," they announced, their voices even more robotic and flat than their helmet vocoders usually sounded.  Hux felt no remorse in controlling his troopers this way; this kind of situation was exactly what the mind-control conditioning had been created for. There was no other way he could ensure their absolute obedience and loyalty.

And this, should he desire it, would be his last chance at escape.

He shoved the temptation from his mind, turning his attention to the first trooper.  "EF-2471, administer the antidote for Serum 7 to Lieutenant Mitaka at once.  Return him to my quarters, then stand guard there until I return.  No one but myself shall be allowed to enter, and you will answer only to him."

"Yes, sir." The trooper executed a precise about face and went to retrieve the required antidote.

"EF-9943, remain and assist EF-2471."

"Yes, sir." She moved to the side, guarding the cell entrance.

"EF-3501 and EF-2266, you are with me."

"Yes, sir," they both said, falling into position on either side of him as he marched through the many corridors and turbolifts toward Snoke's reception hall.  The closer they drew to that dark chamber, the harder Hux had to work to subjugate his fear in favor of anger.  Without Kylo’s snark and wit to play off, he had to stay focused on the righteous indignation he felt at the mistreatment of his subordinate and himself, letting thoughts of revenge against Admiral Doran fuel his rage and mask his distrust of the Supreme Leader.

"Guard the doors. Allow no one but Kylo Ren to enter," Hux commanded as he approached the door.  Wordlessly, the troopers took up position on either side of the doors, blasters at the ready.

Though the double blast doors that guarded the Supreme Leader's inner sanctum were as heavy as those that secured the bridge, they slid open in near-silence, allowing the ambiance of the dim and sinister vault to immediately consume whoever entered.

The doors glided shut behind him, sealing off any hope of help or escape.  From here on out, Hux would have to trust in his own resourcefulness and guile.


	3. Chapter 3

He could just make out the shape ahead, wreathed in mist and shadows upon his throne.  Far be it from Hux to wonder where the smoky atmosphere came from in the middle of a ship; he well understood the benefits of dramatic flair. His greatcoat flowed about him, cutting a larger and more imposing figure than his slight frame allowed.  Snoke was taller than all of them, but twisted and more frail-seeming in person.  Still, he was no less frightening to behold.  His presence lost nothing in being diminished from a towering 12-meter hologram to a wispy alien a little over 2 meters tall.

Hux hadn't even made it three-fourths of the way down the hall before Snoke's voice boomed as though still amplified by the HoloEmitter, "General Hux, where is my apprentice?"

Hux frowned.  _So_ _, Ren_ _hadn't returned to his master?_   "Supreme Leader, I—"

His voice cut out as a sudden pressure pinched his throat closed.  Hands twitching, Hux fought the useless urge to claw at his throat. He clenched his fists tighter, forcing them to remain at his sides.  Panic leapt to fill the space his breath would have occupied, and he struggled to maintain control of it.  If he were going to die, he would do so with as little shame as possible; he would not disgrace himself by scrabbling at his neck and mewling like an animal.

"Spare me your polished words, General," Snoke growled, rising and lumbering toward him.  "I will discover your treachery for myself."

Hux opened his mouth to scream as spectral claws began slashing through his mind, but sound could no more escape his constricted throat than air could enter.  Staggering under the shock of the intrusion, he dropped to his knees. A powerful nausea swirled in his gut as Snoke pierced through his most private, humiliating memories, slithering from thought to thought, weaving threads of pervasive sickness as he searched for evidence of betrayal.  The queasiness was familiar, but Hux had not felt its like since he was a child, when he would be brought before the Supreme Leader to have his thoughts searched for hints of deception.  Everything about this invasion was more violent, more urgent than any before, and he had no defense against it.  The walls Kylo had taught him to put up crumbled like sandcastles under the surge of a tidal wave of malice.

Though he tried to clamp down on his stomach, Hux threw up.  His straining lungs pulled in a bit of the rising bile before Snoke released his stranglehold.  It was only a small amount, but it was enough to set fire to his chest and choke him as he crumpled to the floor, vomiting, coughing, sucking in great gasps of air, clutching at his stomach and tortured throat, all pretense of dignity cast aside.

His mind reeled in confusion.  Memories flashed and were torn aside before he could take stock of them: reaching out for a pretty, young red-headed woman -- _Mother!_ \-- seeing her run out into the battlefield as the bombs thundered all around -- screaming and sobbing as his father dragged him into the shuttle while the loading ramp closed, shutting him away from her forever -- _What happened to her?_ \-- the first test he missed two points on, his father's hands looking fat and soft holding the flimsiplast with his scores, until they came down on him hard and fast as lightning strikes; years of bringing home scoresheet after perfect scoresheet, new academy records, a top level marksman medal -- _I was proud of that_ \-- his father, sipping Corellian brandy out of that same faceted, crystal glass and barely glancing in his direction -- almost worse than the physical abuse, the indifferent and dismissive sniff he'd give, never acknowledging his son's desperate attempts to please -- _Why wasn't I ever good enough?_ Again, the image that Mitaka's panic had brought to the surface -- _not that again, please_ \-- four boys, one of whom he'd foolishly had a crush on, holding him down in an empty classroom -- teeth and tongues and fingers and cocks inside of him, hurting him, making him bleed -- laughing, mocking his scars, his skinny frame, beating him but not in places where any marks would show -- All of the plans -- _so many plans_ \-- vibroknives, poisons, blasters -- to kill his father, to kill the boys who had raped him, to kill himself. 

He wished he were dead now.

"Where is he? I know you're hiding it somewhere!" Snoke hissed.

Then a jumbled collection of images that made him feel even more vulnerable than the memory of the assaults: the face of a young man -- dark-skinned, sandy-haired, green-eyed, and all smiles; slow to act but quick to laugh; bold, easy-going, gentle, sometimes even lazy, doing the bare minimum to scrape by and yet always succeeding -- he was everything that Hux was not.  Jayden Corrik, the first man Hux had ever kissed.  The first man he'd ever loved.

"No! Stop!" Hux cried, the memory so real he could feel the warmth of Jayden's hand on the back of his neck as he pulled Hux in for that first, hot kiss, and suddenly, the salty, sickening taste of Corrik’s blood at their last. Jayden Corrik, his face broken open on the rocks of some wasteland of a planet. Dead, because of Hux's carelessness. The sands below drinking up his blood and his life, while what was left of it glistened on Hux's trembling hands and lips.  

Kylo Ren, bleeding out in the snow.

"No!" Hux shouted again, his hatred and contempt boiling to the surface, unbidden.  If he could convince Snoke the loathing he felt was for _Kylo_... but it was already too late for that.  Snoke was here, in his head, so any thought he had would be heard, and felt, the instant he had it. 

Snoke's lips peeled back from his jagged, yellowed teeth as he snarled, his voice strained by barely-controlled rage.  "Now, isn't this interesting?"  Snoke cared not a whit for his underling's enmity; he expected his charges to fear and obey him, not to like him.  He required loyalty, not love.  But that _this_ one, this slave with no Force-sensitivity whatsoever, had concealed _other_ feelings from him...

While he was this deep in Hux's mind, Hux could glean the barest sense of Snoke's thoughts as well: Hux and Kylo's public animosity had convinced more than just the crew.  But now Snoke  _knew_.

Furious that he'd been misled by these two insignificant minions, Snoke ravaged Hux's thoughts of Kylo.  The ones on the surface were, of necessity, guarded with feelings of mockery and disregard for one another.  Some of that _had_ been real.  At first, anyway.

Too late, Hux tried to rebuild his mental shields. Snoke ripped them away with a snarl.  Hux screamed and clutched the sides of his head as though he could push his defenses back into place.

Snoke lingered on memories of the unlikely pair’s initial explorations of each other.  Hux felt sick again, violated by the dark lord's presence in such intimate moments of his life.  

At the beginning, every move of Hux's had been calculated to control, to seduce.  He'd had an agenda.  Every gentle caress, so craved by the affection-starved knight, crawling over Kylo's skin like a spider's delicate ministrations, wrapping up Hux’s prey.  Hux had deceived the wild warrior, whose passions were all too easy to read when unmasked.  He'd used Ren’s desire for him to kill off his competition and earn that last, yearned for promotion.  He'd had zero remorse or shame for having done so, until—

Snoke had nearly withdrawn then, amused by Hux's deception. Despite the complexity of Hux's feelings for Ren, Snoke almost believed in his loyalty once again.

But then there was that dangling thread of confusion, and Snoke was not one to leave a thread unravelled. 

—until, almost year into their torrid "relationship", Hux fell in love.

If Hux were honest with himself, he’d been attracted to Kylo the moment they’d met. But love was weakness, and weakness was unacceptable. So he’d used Kylo like he’d used everyone else around him, like everyone had used _him_ , and worked to suppress those useless emotions that would only serve to hurt him.  It was even possible that those initial feelings for Kylo had served him in his deception; people told themselves all sorts of pretty lies if it got them what they wanted.  It was only a year later that he finally allowed himself to acknowledge that these feelings would not be eliminated as easily as his enemies had been.

Snoke cackled, an ominous sound like the snapping of bones.

"Played by your own game, General?"

Now Hux felt the shame, roiling and burning like the sun’s energy in the belly of the Starkiller.  He had promised himself he would never love again, that every waking moment would be devoted in single-minded service to the Order.  He had even attempted to re-condition himself, in the privacy of his quarters, so desperate was he to be free of these painful feelings, these defects in himself.  People were merely tools to be used.  There was no room for weakness.  The most painful truth of all: his father had been right.  Weakness brought only torment.

Snoke laughed again.  He knew that Kylo had fallen for Hux from the moment he'd introduced them. His apprentice could hide nothing from him. He didn't blame the young knight for his baser urges; this had been intended, after all. Fostering a simultaneous co-dependence and rivalry in his servants had always been part of the plan. But he had expected the general to rebuff Kylo at every turn, to use him (as he had) to stoke further bitterness and anger in Kylo's heart. To drive home the lesson that sentiment was useless and damaging. The fact that Hux had fallen prey to his own desires -- Hux, his obedient, disciplined pet, always so in control -- it was unexpected... and delectable. Hux's turmoil was like a sumptuous feast spread out before the dark lord, to consume at his leisure. And devour it he would.  

Hux had always buried his emotions. That, in itself, was not suspect.  Still, Snoke felt a nagging doubt around Hux's subterfuge, and he had not risen to the position of Supreme Leader by leaving things unfinished.  There was something even deeper going on here.  He must not allow the discovery of Hux's feelings for Kylo to distract him from his goal.

Before, he would have thought to send Hux after Ren personally -- such a menial task perhaps punishment enough for one who held himself in such high regard -- but now, with Hux's emotional integrity in question, could his loyalty be suspect as well?

Snoke dove back into Hux's thoughts, ignoring the general's retching and sobbing.  He swept aside images of tender kisses and soft touches, even skipping over their secret engagement and subsequent marriage two years ago, looking for something more recent.  _There..._ The chill of fear and sting of defeat as Starkiller Base collapsed behind them, their shuttle jumping to lightspeed just before the shockwave of the expanding corona caught up to them.  Terror.  Loss.  Anger, as they argued over the next two days about what to do.

Kylo. _Kylo_ had wanted to leave. To search for that _girl_.  And Skywalker.  Perhaps he'd wanted to please his master after such a scathing failure by returning with these prized prisoners.  Hux argued with him, and eventually Kylo relented, agreeing to go to Snoke on his own and continue his training while Hux returned to deal with the aftermath of the attack and plan their next move.

But Kylo Ren had not returned to him. 

There was something flat about the scene.  It lacked emotion, which was to be expected on Hux's part, but logic and reason had never been known to sway the fiery young warrior whose reckless heart ruled his head more often than not.  They had been shouting, Hux becoming increasingly worried and desperate, and then… nothing.  The knight had acquiesced.  Kylo Ren never relented so easily.

Snoke explored this memory with more care, and the discrepancy leapt out at him.  There, at the mid-point of their argument, just after the mention of Skywalker and the girl, a wall.  The Force was at work in Hux's mind, a palpable barrier around this particular moment.  A pulsating layer of darkness and haze, obscuring Hux's thoughts.  This was the work of his apprentice. 

Hux, too, blinked in surprise at this turn of events, his confusion registering briefly over his mental anguish as Snoke ripped through the last of the obstacles in his mind.  _He mind-tricked_ me _? Why?_

 

_> >>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<< _

_"Don't be a fool.  You need medical attention!"_

_"I can find her, Tage. I think I know where she went._ _I’ve seen that place before._ _The island.  Even if she won't be my apprentice, she still wants the same thing that we do! So does Luke! And if I can convince them that it isn't a trap, that we really want Snoke gone--"_

 _Hope. Frustration._ _Fear.  Jealousy._ _"Why are you telling me this? Kylo, if you want to go then just go."   Betrayal.  Abandonment._ _"Now you've made me just as culpable! How can I go back now and pretend everything is normal? He'll know, Ky. I can't keep this hidden from him."_

_"I can."_

_Derision. "You can_ try _."_

_"I can make you forget, but I can't do it if you won't let me.  You're too strong-willed for a simple mind-trick.  You have to let me in."_

_Pride. Trepidation. "Don't... Don't go too far."_

_"I won't."_

_Trust. Hope. "Alright."_

_Kylo's fingers, soft at his temples.  Leaning into the touch as though it might be their last, even though he knows he won’t remember it._ _A twinge of pain and then..._

_A sigh. "You're right.  I'll drop you off and go back to complete my training.  It's the only way.  You must have a lot of work to do."_

_Smugness. Irritation. "Indeed, and I'd rather not waste time ferrying your ass all over the galaxy."_

_> >>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<< _

 

So they were planning to betray him after all, at least, the son of Solo was, Snoke thought.  And Hux had been willing to go along with it.  Snoke sighed, nearly a growl.  It was to be expected, albeit not so soon.

Snoke searched for other evidence of Kylo’s tampering, but found only a vague presence fluttering around the edges of Hux’s thoughts and feelings. A pale, moth-like light that remained in his mind.  A piece of Kylo’s presence in the Force, connecting him to Hux’s subconscious even through the vastness of space.

Snoke grinned.  He knew, now, how to bring his wayward apprentice to heel.  


	4. Chapter 4

It was a shame, really.  Hux was useful, and perhaps, even now still loyal.  But, when Snoke had finished with him, and Kylo was once again under his thrall, the general could be restored and reconditioned to forget all of this unpleasantness. He would allow the pain to linger, though; perpetual agony was a source of immense power, and the general would need it for the trials to come. Hux would be instrumental in destroying Kylo's last bit of resistance to Snoke’s wisdom and teachings.

Hux felt the flicker of Snoke's doubt as he withdrew from his mind, leaving a deep void like an old wound that had been ripped open.  The emptiness immediately filled with a tumult of conflicting thoughts.  Sensing his end was near, Hux pushed himself up and forced himself to stand, swaying.  He would not grovel.  He would not die in a pool of his own sick and tears.  He would _not_.  

He wiped his mouth and hoped his voice would come out steadier than his balance.  He told himself he wasn't begging, he was _reassuring_.  "Supreme Leader, I _am_ loyal."

"We shall see."

Hux heard the tromping of boots approaching from behind but refused to look over his shoulder like frightened prey.  He kept his hands by his side, fighting to still the tremors that shook him.  "I could have fled, but I came back to serve the Order. To serve you!" he said, too quickly, the pitch of panic coloring his voice more than he would have liked.

Snoke, who'd already begun to walk back to his throne, whirled on him. "Then endure your punishment for yet another ill-considered failure, and in doing so, serve me far better than you could ever know," he growled, his voice rumbling in the chamber.  To the troopers, he commanded, "Take him away.  Strip him and march him through the corridors of the ship, so that every officer and soldier here sees the cost of failure, so that they know _none_ of them is above reproach. Then, shackle him in the parade grounds for anyone to use as they see fit.  Do as you will with him; so long as he does not die, I care not what befalls him.  Let him see what enmity his ruthlessness has earned him."

"Supreme Leader—" Even gripped by terror Hux had to force the word past his lips. "— _please!"_

Snoke had already resumed his position on the throne, looking down on Hux with same indifference his father had once shown.  He waved them away with a gesture of his gnarled hand, and said nothing further as the troopers grabbed Hux by the arms and dragged him from the throne room.

Hux wasn't fighting them; he'd gone limp, numb with fear.  He had to think.  Quickly.  His mind raced through calculations, contingency plans, tactics, but could settle on nothing.  He had been wrong -- _so wrong_ \-- and that hurt almost as much as to admit that Kylo had been right.  He should have fled when he had the chance.  There was nothing to be done now.  These troopers were not the ones he had conditioned to follow his orders earlier.

_The conditioning!_

"Keywo—"

An armored fist landed on his jaw hard enough to snap his head to the side.  Pain bloomed across his face with such ferocity he nearly blacked out. "Key—" he slurred and spat out blood and fragments of a tooth.  He had to keep trying.  "Keyword—" Another trooper rushed forward and grabbed him by the jaw -- fractured, or at the very least, bruised, judging by the agony it caused -- while another tied a greasy rag around his mouth and tightened it mercilessly, stifling his gurgled groans.

_Save your strength.  This is going to get worse._

Cold, betaplast-covered hands forced him to his knees and began roughly undressing him, punching and kicking him to discourage any struggling.  They tossed his coat to the ground and ripped open his tunic and undershirt, exposing Hux's pale, scarred flesh.  The implications of what was about to happen to him slammed into his consciousness like a hammerhead corvette, and the instinct to flee clawed its way through Hux's tattered dignity.

 _This is going to get_ worse.

Fear granted him a strength he didn't know he had.  As soon as they pulled his tunic free, their grip on his arms loosened momentarily and Hux seized his chance.  He slipped out of the stiffened but silky material and launched himself forward, ducking between two passing lieutenants who'd stopped to stare at the unbelievable sight before them.  He snatched a blaster from the young woman's holster, but before he could even raise it blue stun rings fanned out around him, catching him in the shoulder.

The unfortunate lieutenant took the brunt of the blast, but Hux dropped to his knees in a blinding flash of light and pain nonetheless.  An unintelligible groan sounded in his throat.  His body felt heavy, too heavy, as though he had suddenly been subjected to the increased gravity of an oversized planet.  Though they jerked and twitched, his arms and legs no longer responded to his mental commands, and if he hadn't just used the ‘fresher he was quite certain this situation would have been even more uncomfortable and humiliating.  

Being lifted up with little effort by the troopers while still feeling crushed by his own weight played havoc on his senses.  The paralysis did nothing to relieve the throbbing in his jaw, either.  Vertigo swept through him, chased by shame, as they manhandled him into an easier position to disrobe him, yanking off his boots and pants, even his underwear.  Panic shot a burst of adrenaline through him, helping to clear the effects of the stun from his system, though not fast enough.  He shivered in the sudden cold.  His tongue pushed against the sodden cloth in his mouth, tasting the salt of his blood, but even without the gag his protests would have been slurred and ineffectual.

The troopers were laughing, spitting insults and joking about his size, his scars, his cock.

An involuntary blush colored his cheeks, and he struggled in vain against their iron grip.  Several of them raised him up, parallel to the floor.  He couldn't lift his head to see what they were doing.

"If the traitor wants to run away so badly," a metallic voice sounded from behind a trooper's mask, "Let's see how well he does after this."

Hux had barely registered the rapid succession of clicks that signaled a stun baton snapping into place before a blow to the soles of his feet lanced pain all the way up his spine to settle at the base of his skull.  His cry, though muffled by the gag, was loud enough to draw a larger crowd of onlookers.  The strikes continued, building in intensity, stinging and burning.  He tried to bite down on the gag, but his cracked tooth and jaw ached so badly his stomach heaved in response.  He gave up trying to hold in his screams when a bone cracked, then several bones.  It had been too long since he'd felt this kind of agony, and his endurance had diminished.

This had been one of his father's preferred tests and punishments -- pain receptors in the feet never acclimated to the violence being inflicted.  The pain grew and grew until he eventually lost control and cried out, every time.

The beating finally subsided, though his panic did not.  He twisted and writhed in their grip, but had no leverage and little strength to break free.  Not being able to see what was coming amplified his anxiety.  His heart raced.  He tried again to lift his head, but someone snatched a handful of his hair, wrenched his head back and spit in his eye.  Hux squeezed his eyes shut against further assaults and they released his head to dangle toward the floor once more.  Panting, he tried to catch his breath before they hurt him again.

A new sensation, sharper and more focused than the truncheon, set his nerves ablaze.  He bucked against their renewed hold on him as the point of a vibroknife sliced through his skin from the point of his heel to his toes.  On top of the beating he'd just received, it felt like his feet were on fire.  The slashes continued -- two, three, six before he lost count -- then started on the other foot as well.  The agony restored his strength and he jerked and contorted so wildly that they eventually dropped him, kicking and punching him as he clawed at the deck plates to get away.  He heard a rib snap a split second before he felt it, then three more.  Pain stabbed through his chest.  He curled up and flailed out, trying to defend himself, to cover his face and neck, and fought against the instinct to kick at them.

The blows stopped as if in unison, and through his tears -- was he sobbing? _How pathetic_ \-- he saw their shadows slide away.

"You want to get away, traitor?" a tinny, modulated voice taunted him, "Then, go on.  Run.  We'll give you a 30 second head start."

Hux looked up.  Hundreds, thousands of officers and troops alike lined the corridor, having arrived to gawk at the spectacle of his disgrace while he had been blinded by agony.  _His_ officers.   _His_ troops.  And yet they stood by, offering nothing but pity at best, and more insults and attacks at worst.  Their betrayal hurt almost as badly as any of his injuries.

The majority of the officers at least had the decency to avert their eyes as he clambered to his feet only to stagger and fall again with a cry of despair.  The burning, throbbing agony in his feet pulsed all the way up to his chest, which tightened in response.  He gasped for breath, wishing that the cold air could somehow cool the fire spreading throughout his body.  He knew this was just a trap, a trick to get him to injure himself even more, to teach him the futility of escape, but the instinct to flee was too strong to suppress.

_This is going to get worse._

The sadistic laughter of the troopers drowned out the whimpers that escaped him as he pulled himself up to his knees and half-crawled, half-stumbled away.  Thirty seconds wasn’t a lot of time, but he knew this ship better than the engineers who designed and built it.  There were places he could go.  Places he could hide.  If only he could get away.  He could do this.  Pain was only time passing.  He'd been through worse.  With a growl that morphed into a scream of determination, he stood and lurched down the corridor.

It was less running than a sort of controlled falling, keeping his hands out in front of him like a blind man in case he tripped.  The splintered bones in his feet and toes cracked and ground against one another.  It was excruciating to remain upright, but not impossible.

No matter how much his mind railed against this futility, he couldn't stop himself from trying.  Hux was well aware he was merely being forced to participate in his own degradation, but if there were a chance, even a small one...

The ache of betrayal was nearly as strong as the torture of movement.  The faces he passed were all familiar to him, even the ones concealed behind helmets.  He knew every one of them by name, or number.  Had grown up with them or supervised their growth.  None offered a hand.  Not even a word of encouragement.  Most refused to meet his gaze.

"Time's up!" 

Someone tripped him as he rounded a corner.  He crashed hard, twisting to land on his left side, which was less injured but no less painful to skid down the metal deck plates on.  The walls seemed to move in on him as more troopers jumped him, striking him with the butts of their blasters, slashing at him with vibroknives, and stomping and kicking him with their durasteel-tipped boots.

He shielded his face and head with his arms again, and tried to untie the knot at the back of the gag.  Pain and desperation made his hands tremble.  He couldn't get ahold of the knot and it was too tight to just pull off.  Just as it started to slip, someone realized what he was doing and yanked his hands away, up and over his head.  They kept hold of his wrists, his thin bones grinding against one another as they dragged him down the corridor toward the assembly grounds.  His bare skin, slicked with the sweat of his efforts and the blood of his injuries, squeaked against the polished, chromium flooring.  Hux went limp, accepting that it was over and attempting to conserve what little strength he had left for the torments to come.  At least, as dead weight he would make them work for it, though the extra effort on their part was minimal and meaningless to anything other than his pride.

The assembly hall, typically used for the academy's sports and parade drills, and for publicly rendered punishments and executions, was large enough to host the entirety of their military complement and then some: around 100,000 beings in total. A sense of dread, mingled with shame, overcame Hux as they hauled him into the cavernous space.  This was where, as a child, and later as a cadet, he'd been publicly lashed for his transgressions.  His back ached at the memory.  A great many of the older officers aboard this ship had witnessed his humiliation in the past, and several of the ones currently running drills had stopped to see what all the commotion was about.

Stopping just short of the pillar to which he was to be shackled, the Stormtroopers encircled him.  The one who had taken the lead, IS-5287, stood over him, removing his belt and lower armor, and beginning to unfasten his pants.  Horror seized Hux's heart.  _They wouldn't! They wouldn't dare_ _!_

Before the trooper could finish, a voice cut through the commotion of the crowd.  "What is all this about?"

The nasally voice belonged to one of Hux's former classmates, Lieutenant Commander Talav, now an instructor at their alma mater on the _Finalizer_.  IS-5287 took a step back and saluted. "Direct orders from Supreme Leader Snoke, sir.  The traitor is to be shackled here and tortured to the point of death by any who desire to take part in his punishment."

"Is that so?" Talav's eyes narrowed as he looked down at Hux in cold disdain.

Hux looked up at him, eyes wide with fear and pleading for Talav to stop them.  Although Talav had been friends with those who'd bullied him, and no doubt knew about the multiple violations Hux had suffered at their hands, he himself had never participated.  Still, Hux’s hope was tempered.

Talav leered at Hux, his lips curling into a smirk as he stared into his eyes, "Carry on then."

Hux's anguished shout, garbled by the gag, was nonetheless understood as Talav turned and walked away.  The troopers closed around him once more, IS-5287 continuing where he'd left off.  Several others began removing their belts and armor as well.

_This can't be happening._

Laughter swirled around him, chasing his panic to new heights.  

This was never supposed to happen again.  He was a general.  He had power.

With renewed vigor, he lashed out, howling and twisting and kicking at them, heedless of the pain.  

He _had_ to get away.  

Two troopers wrenched his arms apart until he was pinned down.  Despite the burn in his straining muscles, his back seized up against the frigid flooring.  Unbearable pain shot through him as his lacerated heel connected with one trooper's chin, sending his attacker flying back into another.  The ones fighting to keep hold of his arms slammed him down hard against the ground, dazing him just long enough for another two to grab hold of his pale thighs and yank them apart.  Humiliation washed over him at being so exposed, so helpless, the heat of shame coloring his cheeks.  He looked up into those faceless, skull-like masks, wailing protests that went ignored.

IS-5287 -- "Ice" his squadmates called him, due to his cold-blooded, cruel nature -– lifted his helmet just enough to spit in his hand, and pumped it over his already hardened cock a few times before settling his weight over Hux and thrusting through his clenched hole in one violent stroke.

Hux screamed, squirming under the trooper's immense weight, chest heaving to draw breath again.  He wished he could bite down to stifle his pitiful grunts and yelps as Ice continued to hammer into him.  The pain tore at his insides -- he could already feel blood trickling down his backside -- but it didn't burn as badly as the violation of having someone other than his husband inside him.  

He turned his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut against the image of the man rutting above him.  An instinct fostered by years of abuse drained the fight from him.  His arms and legs went slack, trembling from exhaustion and fear.  Behind closed eyes, memories surfaced from the times before.  Faces of the boys at the academy.  Sometimes the teachers.  Leering.  Predatory.

 _This can't be happening!_  

He had worked so hard, and for so long, to finally have enough power that no one could ever use him like this again.  And it had all been for nothing.  None of that mattered now.  Now he was nothing more than a scared cadet, powerless and exploitable.

Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes and streamed over the bridge of his nose as the next man, and the next took their turns.  As the shadow of the fourth trooper fell over him, eclipsing any hope of mercy or reprieve, a blaster shot rang out.  Hux gasped as the hot spray of blood showered over him, expecting (and secretly hoping for) it to have been his own.  He opened his eyes at the sound of a familiar voice: metallic but higher-pitched.  _Phasma_.

"What is the meaning of this?" She demanded, leveling the barrel of her still-smoking blaster at the next trooper in line.  "Explain!"

The troopers' words tumbled over one another as they rushed to defend their actions, citing Snoke's orders.

"Back off. Now!" Phasma barked.

The troopers stepped away and stood there, shuffling about in uncertainty.  Phasma took one hand from her weapon to remove the clasp that held her cape in place, then knelt beside Hux, who had curled himself into a tight ball, covering his face in shame.  She draped her cape over him, her actions gentle in spite of her formidable size and strength.  The soft falls of fabric conformed to his thin, battered frame, shielding Hux from the gaze of the large crowd that had gathered.

"General, can you stand?" She asked, her voice soft, even through the harshness of the vocabulator in her mask.

Hux tried to answer, but in his confusion forgot all about the gag.  Even so, she understood his garbled response as a negative.  He tried again to untie it, but Phasma brushed aside his shaking hands and unfastened it herself.

"Sir! You can't do that! He'll—"

"Keyword: Thranta." Phasma said without turning to see their reaction.

The troopers' eyes went wide.

"Activate Thesh Protocol: phase one."

All 20 of the soldiers gathered there jerked to attention as one, intoning in a deadpan chorus, “Thesh Protocol activated.  Awaiting orders, sir.”

"Did you not think I had knowledge of your activation codes? Fools." If her helmet had been off, she would have spit on them.  _Disgusting, atrocious… The representatives of the Order should be better than this._   She stood, drawing up to her full height.  "Which of you participated in this barbarism?"

The three rapists raised their hands, fear racing through them as their bodies moved entirely against their wills.

“Step forward.”

They did so.

“Elevate protocol: phase four,” she said to those who had confessed.  Without question or hesitation the three troopers removed their helmets, raised their sidearms to their heads, terror at having lost control of their bodies evident in their eyes before they blasted themselves into the next world.

"Which of you beat him, or held him down?"

Another round of hands –- to these she extended a modicum of mercy -– “Keyword: Vorn. Terminate.”  Their bodies crumpled to the ground, unconscious from instantaneous, massive cerebral hemorrhaging and dead within half a minute.

"The rest of you, clean up this mess and get out of my sight! You six, clear the corridors to the medbay!"

The troopers scrambled to obey, though less from fear than a deep-seated and involuntary need to carry out the tasks assigned, corralling the onlookers and ushering them away.

Phasma knelt again, scooping up her general (and the closest thing she had to a friend) with great care.  Hux let out one hitching sob before turning his face to her chromium-plated shoulder and going quiet, staring at nothing, shock overtaking him.

Dare he hope that Phasma would defy the orders of the Supreme Leader? For the longest time, she had been his only friend aboard this lonely ship.  He couldn't allow the same fate to befall her.

"It's true..." his voice rasped from his raw throat, "Snoke ordered... this."

She gave no indication that she had heard him.  Her metal boots continued to clank down the now emptied corridors and into a turbolift.

"Don't... don't ruin yourself for me.  It's not worth it."

"Armitage," she began, her voice taking on a more familiar, tender inflection, "I know you.  You are no traitor."   Her tone hardened into its frosty professionalism again, brooking no further arguments, "And I will not allow you to be harmed, nor my soldiers to behave in such a depraved and uncivilized manner."

After a while, fighting against the humiliation of acknowledging what had just happened to him, and that his friend had seen it, he whispered, "Thank you."

She only nodded and continued walking.

As they approached the medbay, she said quietly, "Sir, there is a holdout blaster on my hip.  Can you reach it?"

Hux wriggled an arm out and unsnapped her holster, pulling the small pistol back up to hide it under the folds of the cloak.

"If we are intercepted, do not hesitate to use it."

He nodded, understanding the meaning in the shadow of her words.  The culture that had birthed Phasma prized strength, self-reliance, and honor above all else.  The fact that he had not already used it to end his shame must have lowered her estimation of him.

“Medic!” Phasma’s metallic voice demanded as she strode into the medbay and laid Hux down on a bed.

The chief medical officer approached, but upon seeing Hux he shook his head.   “I’m sorry. On orders of the Supreme Leader and Admiral Doran, he is not to be treated unless he is in danger of dying.”

Phasma’s long legs made up the distance between them in the space of a single heartbeat.  She grabbed the doctor by the collar of his lab coat and thrust the barrel of her blaster into his stomach.  “If _you_ do not wish to be in danger of dying, you will do your duty and tend to him _now_.  And fetch painkillers.”

“Y-yessir,” the older man stammered, scurrying off and returning with an FX-7 med droid. 

Phasma turned to stand guard at the door, glancing over now and again to make sure her orders were being followed.

The droid pressed a hypospray to Hux’s bicep, and he felt the immediate effects of sluggishness settling into him, weighing down his limbs, but no relief from the pain.  It took him precious, wasted seconds to realize he’d been sedated rather than anesthetized.  He drew breath to warn Phasma, but it was too late.  Blasterfire erupted in the hall, and the chromed captain dropped to one knee, returning bright red bursts of fire into the corridor.

Under the cape, Hux strained against the artificial heaviness pushing down on him, angling the blaster millimeter by millimeter toward his chin.  His eyelids felt too thick to keep open and his arm felt as though it were moving through rapidly hardening permacrete.  For all his tiredness, his heart was racing.  The med droid had noticed what he was trying to do and extended one claw-like arm to stop him.  He couldn’t even draw deep enough breath to warn Phasma, not that any sound he could make would carry over the firestorm of laser blasts anyway.

_Please.  Please let me end this._

Sleep tugged his eyelids closed, just as his finger twitched on the trigger.


	5. Chapter 5

The constant humming and beeping of the ship’s systems and the hissing of the air recyclers had faded into something that passed for silence to Kylo Ren.  Even the cold seeping up through his robes from the durasteel plating, as he sat cross-legged on the floor in the crew compartment, didn’t distract from his meditations.  He had long since learned to tune out the various manifestations of irritation the human body could supply indefinitely when one wished to be still.  What he hadn’t prepared for was the sudden jolt of terror and agony that yanked him back into the world of physical sensation like a parent snatching a child back from a dangerous precipice.

He sat for a moment, stunned, holding his head in his hands and gasping for breath.  It felt as though he were spinning and falling all at once, the bulkheads closing in around him.  Pain came at him from every angle, every strike punctuated with fear, making it difficult to tell where one injury ended and the next began.  Kylo immediately identified the source as Hux, but the reason for his suffering eluded him. 

Kylo had been flying from system to system for three days since dropping Hux off on the _Finalizer_ , and nothing had happened between then and now.  Hux had been restless and exhausted, but that was just so much background noise for Kylo.  His husband rarely slept, and tended to fret over the most minuscule of details when Kylo wasn’t around to make him go to sleep and take care of himself. 

There had been ample time for someone to punish Hux, if that was what they were going to do.  So, why now?

The why didn’t really matter.  All that mattered was that it was happening.  Now.  And he wasn’t there to stop it.

He jumped up, intending to head toward the cockpit _…and do what, exactly?_

_Turn the ship around? Go back?_

After days of guesswork and meditation to hone his Force senses, not to mention how much effort he’d put into obfuscating his own distinct Force signature, he had just entered the coordinates for the final hyperspace jump to a system near enough to where he thought Ahch-To was that he was certain he could find Luke.  If he went back now, he would be unprepared to deal with Hux’s injuries _and_ Snoke.  He couldn’t even be sure if the Knights, _his_ Knights, would be loyal to him over the Supreme Leader.  Unless he brought along Luke and the scavenger girl -- Rey, the traitor had called her, though that wasn’t his sister’s name -- he wouldn’t stand a chance against Snoke.

His father had had to die for him to acknowledge that it was true.  Snoke _was_ using him.  Had tricked him into thinking patricide was the only path to power when, in fact, it had weakened him.  No doubt to keep him under control.

Whatever the reason, he was useless to Hux now. 

Without the completion of his training, the Dark or the Light, he was useless to everyone.  It took every last bit of concentration to push back against his bond to his husband, to keep it in periphery so that he remained aware but was no longer feeling the pain as though it were his own.

 _But I deserve to feel it_. 

In some terrible way, he was grateful for the pain.  He had killed his own father.  Han Solo had never been there for him, and yet… he was nowhere near as atrocious as Hux’s father.  Han hadn’t deserved death for trying, in his typically stoic and ineffectual way, to show his son that he loved him.

Kylo slumped down onto the edge of the slide-out bunk, and stared at his big, empty hands.  Tears plonked onto the deck plates below.  As Kylo Ren, he had never felt this helpless.  Now, he didn’t even have a lightsaber.  He wasn’t even sure he had a name anymore.  Who was Kylo Ren without his master, without his Knights, without his saber, and without his darkness?

The ship would drop out of hyperspace in less than two hours.  He had to keep going.  For Hux and for himself.  Whoever he was now.


	6. Chapter 6

The general had been right, as usual. Mitaka did have a secret hiding place on the _Finalizer_ to which he could retreat when the troubles of the world, or his bunkmate, got to be too much. Within moments of his assignment to the _Finalizer_ , Mitaka had downloaded and begun memorizing the complete schematics for the ship's layout. The _Finalizer_ was much grander in scope and design than the _Vindicator_ , the ship where he'd grown up, but certain things held true on every ship in the fleet. There were always unused storage areas, and sometimes whole sectors of empty, waiting-to-be-assigned quarters. Billeting oneself in better quarters was risky, but no one paid any attention to overflow storage compartments.

It was in just such a compartment that Mitaka had been nesting for the last four years. Putting his hard-earned academy slicing skills to work, he had successfully marked this room as occupied and off-limits in the ship's computers. Anyone who attempted to enter would find that someone of a higher security clearance than theirs had already booked it for use. There were many hundreds of such unused compartments on the ship, so no one would suspect anything was amiss if they couldn't gain access to one storage room.

As soon as he'd stirred from his drugged slumber and found a Stormtrooper standing at attention at his bedside, he'd snapped awake, expecting a fight. None had come. Once he'd figured out that the trooper was his alone to command, Mitaka sprang into action. His skin still prickled with soreness, and all the purging he'd done had weakened him and left him shaky on his feet, but his mind was clear, and there were important things to be done.

He had been taken to Hux's quarters. That alone told him that it wouldn't be safe to go back to his own.  Hux was a very private man; even so, Mitaka had recognized the austere room instantly. He'd spent many a late night in the general's offices in the adjoining space, and had, at rare times, been called upon to fetch things for Hux when he was ill or otherwise indisposed.

Mitaka got up and showered quickly, feeling a twinge of guilt for using his commander's fancy soaps. They were gifts from Kylo Ren's travels, no doubt, as the general normally made do with the same standard toiletries as the rest of the crew. These particular soaps were scented faintly of dewflowers, and he found the subtle smell pleasing.  Lacking a clean uniform, he searched through Hux’s closet and settled on borrowing a PT bodysuit from Hux's sparse collection.  The closest thing Hux had to civilian clothing was a single formal tunic and cloak, which wouldn’t do, and Mitaka couldn’t very well get away with wearing a general’s uniform.  The training outfit was a bit tight on him, and slightly long in the leg, but it would serve the purpose at hand.

Mitaka returned to wipe down all the surfaces in the refresher, and tossed his used towel into the launderer to erase all traces of his presence. He commanded the trooper to make the bed while he searched Hux's desk.

It was only a matter of time before the ISB would turn Hux's quarters upside down looking for his personal datapad. He was surprised they hadn’t done so already.  Mitaka couldn't imagine what Hux had done to earn the ire of Snoke and the High Command, but they clearly intended to make an example of him for the loss of Starkiller Base, and Mitaka would be damned if he would allow them to frame Hux with some hatchet job of a scandal.

Hux's desk, though made from a rare, dark wood, and lined with a fine silvery metal, nonetheless lacked any other embellishments.  Its surface was wide and spotlessly clean, and devoid of any personal accoutrements, even in his own quarters. The solitary decoration was a scale model of Starkiller Base, which had been utilized in several presentations during the planning stages of the project.  Mitaka entered the necessary codes to access the drawers and found meticulously stacked flimsiplast copies of important reports and new weapon designs the general had been working on in his downtime.  In the second drawer he found various spare computer parts organized into smaller containers, and under those, the case that contained Hux's personal datapad.  He lifted that out and set it aside, taking care to rearrange the containers exactly as they had been.  The left-hand drawer held only Hux's blaster and, curiously, the singed and broken pieces of Kylo Ren's lightsaber.

Mitaka hesitated over taking the blaster -- if anyone knew it was there, it would be a dead giveaway that someone had been in this room -- but eventually decided the need for protection was too great to pass up.  He turned it on just long enough to check that the battery pack was fully charged. Naturally, it was.

He put everything into Hux's gym bag, even the remains of the saber (though he didn't know why), and found an extra hat which he pulled down low on his head so that the visor covered as much of his face as he could conceivably pull off and still be within regulations.

The trooper had told him that Hux had gone to meet the Supreme Leader, so Mitaka decided it was worth the risk to at least pass by the audience chamber and see if he could hear what was going on, if indeed anything still was.  The bedside chrono read 22:25.  He had no idea how long he’d been out, or when Hux had left the brig.  Once more, he looked over the room.  Satisfied he’d left everything as it had been, he exited.

Outside, another trooper stood at attention.  This one, too, was his to control, so he ordered them both to accompany him down to Snoke’s reception hall.  The corridors were eerily silent and deserted, despite it being nearly end-of-shift.  Mitaka’s stomach grumbled not only from hunger, but also a knot of apprehension that had begun twisting inside him.

When he spotted the crimson footprints, he stopped cold.  Further down the corridor he could see indistinct black shapes scattered here and there along the deck.  The shine of 4 silvery-white bands caught his attention, and the heaviness of knowing settled over him. 

_His tunic._

Mitaka felt as though he were being propelled forward by an unseen hand, counter to the direction the bloody feet had taken.  He didn’t want to know.  Didn’t want to see this.  Soon enough he made out a belt, boots, one glove, trousers – _don’t look, don’t let me see it, please not that_ – underclothes…

A shudder ran through him and he dropped to his knees next to the ripped tunic and the greatcoat, unmistakably Hux’s, confirming his worst fears.  He couldn’t believe that whoever had done this had just left it all here.  Perhaps it had just happened and they would return, soon, for their trophies. 

Mitaka grit his teeth and snarled at the thought.  _Not if I can help it._

The coat had some sentimental value to Hux, though Mitaka didn’t know why.  The general didn't have much in the way of personal effects, but he seemed to take great care of the overcoat.  He rolled it up as quickly as he could and stuffed it into the gym bag.  Nothing else would fit, so he ordered the troopers to pick the rest of the pieces of Hux's uniform up, and hurried back to his secret hideaway.

He took Hux’s things from the troopers and told them to wait outside.  Once inside, he leaned against a shelf and let out a sob he hadn’t realized he had been holding on to.  Whatever they’d done to his general, it was a safe bet they would do the same to him if they ever caught him.  He had to take several deep breaths to calm his racing heart before he could push down the fear long enough to think rationally again. 

As useful as the conditioned troopers were, they would be a dead giveaway to his whereabouts.  He had to let them go.

Mitaka deliberated over what to do for a few minutes before finally deciding to send them back to their quarters, with orders to return and stand guard over a different empty room several doors down from his own during their regular shifts.  They were to carry on as normal but not speak of anything they’d seen or done today, nor what they were guarding or why.  That way, he could make use of them again later if needed.  He wondered how long they would remain locked into their programming, and whether or not anyone else would notice.  Mitaka had accompanied Hux on reviews of the trooper’s conditioning process, but he was not familiar with their code phrases or control words. Those were secrets only High Command and Snoke himself possessed.

On a nearby shelf, he carefully folded Hux’s clothing and put it aside.  He pulled the greatcoat from the bag and flapped it a few times to get rid of any debris that may have clung to it.  As he did, something flew away and clattered to the ground.  Mitaka felt stupid for not having checked the pockets before flailing the coat about, and set it aside on a shelf while he went looking for whatever it was that had fallen.  After a few moments of searching, he found a small triangle of something that took him a long time to recognize. 

_It's... just a piece of wood?_

He turned the object over in his gloved hands, running a finger over the surface, which had become smooth and polished by years of fondling.  Whatever details had once adorned it had become lost to time and touch.  Mitaka couldn't make sense of it.

It must have carried some meaning for Hux, though, so he replaced it in the greatcoat's pocket, then folded it and set it aside as well.  

In a bout of paranoia, he again made sure the door was securely locked, then shuffled over to the corner where he’d made a bed, letting the duffel bag slide off his shoulder as he collapsed onto the “requisitioned” mattress.  It had been a long day, most of which he’d spent screaming.  His throat was raw and scratchy, and even though his stomach begged for a protein bar or something to tide him over, he didn’t think he could manage it. 

Restless, he tossed and turned as he tried to sleep.  His body ached with exhaustion, but he knew why he wasn’t able to drift off. 

His admiration for his senior officer ran deeper than what could be considered appropriate by military standards and regulations.  Nothing could ever come of his infatuation with the general -- he knew that -- but it stood true, nonetheless.  He couldn't bear the thought of someone harming his mentor.

He had to know what had happened to Hux.

He didn’t _want_ to know, but he _had_ to.

Against his better judgment, he pulled out his own personal datapad and sliced his way into the security footage from earlier in the evening. 

General Hux arrived at Snoke’s audience chamber at exactly 20:30, according to the HoloRecording.  He stationed the two guards he’d walked there with by the door.  Appearing to steel himself for what was to come, Hux took a deep breath and went inside.  There were no cameras inside any of Snoke’s personal spaces, so Mitaka couldn’t see what had transpired at the meeting, but at 20:50, a squad of troopers stepped up as though to relieve the other two of duty.  When they did not budge, and instead drew their weapons, the four fresh troopers shot them dead on the spot.  Kicking the bodies aside, two took up residence in their former positions, and two marched inside.

Minutes later, they reemerged, a haggard and stunned-looking Hux dragged between them. 

Mitaka watched, his hands over his mouth to stifle his sobs, as Hux was stripped and tortured.  Now he understood the trail of blood that he’d encountered along the corridor.

Working as fast as his trembling hands would allow, Mitaka switched between feeds, tracking the progress of Hux’s feeble escape attempt, and the subsequent fate that befell him after he’d been dragged into the assembly hall.  The horror of what was about to happen was nearly as visceral for Mitaka as it had been for Hux.  “No, please don’t… Not that…” he caught himself whispering, as though he could somehow re-write what he was about to witness.

He couldn’t bear to watch it, and yet, he couldn’t look away.  At least, most of the details were blurred by his tears.  Mitaka skipped ahead, hoping, praying for some kind of reprieve for his general -- the time stamp indicated that Hux had endured the assaults of the troopers for a little over half an hour, with no end in sight -- and his heart leapt when Phasma appeared.

Mitaka scrubbed at his eyes and nearly cracked the transparisteel of his datapad as his fingers pounded out commands, hopping from cam droid to cam droid, following Phasma’s departure.  _Did they get away? Did she get him off the ship? Where is she taking him?_

He closed his eyes for a moment to visualize the layout of the ship, and realized she was taking him to the nearest medbay.  For reasons of privacy, there were no cameras inside the patient admissions area, so Mitaka stayed focused on the one just outside the door.  He held his breath.  Watching.  Waiting.  He was just about to fast-forward again when Phasma reappeared in the doorway, standing guard.  The time stamp read 22:25.

This had all happened while he’d been asleep in the general’s bed. 

Guilt clawed at the inside of his stomach, nauseating him.  He should have been awake.  He should have been there.  Done something.  Anything to help.

Of course, he knew that he couldn’t have.  He never could have predicted this.  And what could he have done that Phasma had not? He was no fighter.

At 22:27, a firefight erupted in the corridor.  Special Forces troops flooded the hall and stormed the medbay in a matter of minutes.  Phasma held them off for as long as she could, taking 5 stun blasts and 2 full-powered blasts before she eventually succumbed to their onslaught.  The troopers dragged her off one way, probably toward the brig (he would have to check later), and Hux’s limp form off another.

Mitaka traced their path back to the assembly hall, but collapsed into a weeping mess as the troopers shackled Hux’s wrists to either side of the wide, central column.  There would be no escape for him now.

Lying on his side, Mitaka held his knees to his chest and cried, staring ahead as more unspeakable torments played out on the HoloVid before him.  After a while, the shifting of the numbers at the corner of his screen caught his attention, and it took him a moment, in his grief, to remember why that was important.

The data was wiped after every shift, once it had been reviewed, and it was nearly 24:00 now.  Middle Watch would start soon, and the first part of this atrocity would be lost forever unless someone copied it over.  As terrible as it was, Mitaka believed that it should be saved as evidence for when all of these perpetrators could be brought to justice.  And he burned with the desire to retaliate against those who had injured Hux so grievously.  Probably, he would never get the chance to avenge Hux, but if Kylo Ren came back and got to them first, well, then Mitaka could always destroy his copies to preserve the general’s dignity.  Phasma had already dealt with the first batch, at least, but Mitaka felt that it should be saved, nonetheless, in order to form a more complete record.

He selected the cameras and times he wanted, initiated the transfer of the data, and set his datapad to sleep mode. There was nothing else he could do right now, and he couldn’t bring himself to witness any more of this barbarism. He curled back up on the mattress and cried until his eyes were so puffy he couldn’t keep them open anymore.  Mitaka knew he should try to do something to stop this, but what he had seen terrified him.  Phasma had tried, and failed, and she was Captain of the Guard.  He was just a skinny little nobody that a brilliant general had taken pity on. 

They said that Hux’s father had called his own son “useless”, but he was wrong. 

No one had ever said that about Mitaka -- he had perfectly loving and supportive mothers -- but they had been wrong, too.

Not everyone could be a hero.


	7. Chapter 7

The first few lashes always shocked more than hurt.  The suddenness of the sensation and sound distracted a little from the pain, but as the blood rushed to the surface the skin became more sensitive, more easily abraded.

Hux was 12 years old the first time his father had him publicly flogged.  It had only been 35 lashes, but it had been more than enough.  They’d even had to reconfigure the mag restraints on the pillar because his small arms couldn’t reach all the way around.  He remembered how cold the rough stone had felt against his heaving chest as he’d tried to control his breathing and stay quiet.  Staying quiet was everything.  The Commandant would demand even more punishments if he uttered a single sound.  No weakness must be shown.  If he proved himself, maybe he would get away with only 35 this time.

The next _crack_ pulled him from the memory.  The whip had wrapped over his shoulder, stinging his cheek as it passed.  The official Scourge would never have missed their mark like that.

_The cold.  The pain.  The rough stone._

He wasn’t dreaming.  It wasn’t a memory.

“No, no, no.  Aim like this,” a trooper’s vocoder buzzed behind him.  “Let the end trail back behind you before you bring it overhead.  Use your whole arm, not just your wrist.  And try to hit between the scars.  It’ll hurt more.  Watch.”

The lash struck him again and he jerked awake with a gasp, a trail of fire down his back.  His neck and shoulders burned as well.  He hung from the column, shackled just high enough that he couldn’t rest on his knees.  The stress on his lungs in this position made breathing difficult, especially with his cracked ribs stabbing into him with every panting wheeze.  He tried to pull himself up, away from the blows that continued to rend his flesh from his bones, but there was nowhere to go.  No escape.

His feet, though free, felt too heavy to move, weighed down by swelling and throbbing agony.  Hux didn’t want to stand, _couldn’t_ , but he had to; he wasn’t strong enough to hold himself up for long using only his arms.  The whip snapped beside his face again and he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to turn his head away and terrified of being blinded by this inexperienced wielder.  He cringed as his strength gave out, his chest and face scraping against the stone as he dropped.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he couldn’t breathe.  It was already hard enough with the blood- and spit-crusted gag in his mouth.  Perhaps it wouldn’t even take so long to suffocate if one of those fractured bones punctured a lung.  Snoke didn’t want him to die, which meant death would be the only end to this suffering.  Sloane wouldn’t be coming to save him this time.  There was no hope of a rescue.  No hope of escape.  Not even a hope that some of the men and women guarding him would show mercy, thinking him a traitor.

Nothing in his training, or even his hellish upbringing, had prepared him to endure this kind of torture.  With no end in sight, he couldn’t even focus on the time passing.  Better to give up hope now and do what he could to end his miserable existence, and deny Snoke whatever pleasure he derived from this.

Another strike, harder and more well-placed than the rest, ripped him open from shoulder to hip.  He dug his fingernails into his palms even harder, drawing blood, and barely held in the yelp that threatened to escape.

The lashes stopped as a few of the troopers drew nearer.  Against all rational thought, Hux hoped they might let him down for a brief rest.  Though he knew that wasn’t the case, hope was a difficult thing to extinguish by force of will alone.  He opened his eyes to stare questioningly at the soldier beside him.

“Can’t distract yourself if you can’t make a fist.”

The trooper raised the butt of his blaster and Hux gave a muffled shout of protest, drowned out by their mechanized laughter.  The rifle descended in terrifying slow motion.  He yanked hard against the binders, desperate to pull away.  A sickening crunch and a blinding flash of pain knocked all thoughts from his mind. 

The back of Hux’s hand split open.  Shards of bone jutted out, cutting through tendons that glistened wetly under the harsh lights directed down on him.  He had only a moment to register that someone else stood on the other side of him before something smashed into his right hand as well.

A scream tore out of him like an explosive decompression into the vacuum of space, his lungs sucking at air that could not pass through the shock of such sudden and overwhelming trauma.

The trooper leaned in close, death’s-head mask mere centimeters from Hux’s tear-streaked face,  “Not so _frelling_ high and mighty now, are you?”

Hux tried to distract himself with his anger instead.  Thoughts of Kylo tearing through them all as effortlessly as the whip had shredded his back.  Kylo would feel this, in that mystical way that he always knew what Hux was feeling, and when he got here…

_No… No!_

The realization hit him as hard as the renewed slashes of the whip.  Kylo _did_ know.  Kylo was always with him, in some weird, metaphysical way that Hux couldn’t really understand.  Distance didn’t seem to matter.  Kylo could feel all of this, possibly with as much intensity as he himself felt it.  He might already be on his way back.

That was what Snoke had meant by “serving him” through his suffering.

This was all a ploy to lure him back; to be enthralled by Snoke once more.  What remained of Hux’s pride couldn’t allow that.  He would not allow that twisted sack of bones to best him, to drag his husband down to be entangled in this tragic web for the rest of his life, used for whatever nefarious purposes that putrid being had in mind.

Though Hux couldn’t contact Ren on his own through the strange bond, he hoped that, if Kylo could feel this, he could hear his thoughts as well.  Thoughts that tore him apart inside, for his husband (whom he never truly thought he deserved in the first place) was all he had ever loved and all he had left in this wretched existence.  Every sting of humiliation, every pulse of pain begged for relief, for rescue.  It took all the courage he could muster to deny that impulse.

_Don’t come for me.  It’s a trap.  Break this bond and forget about me.  No matter what you feel, don’t come back.  Please._

Over and over he chanted those lines, trying to keep them in the foreground of his mind.  It became his mantra, the only remaining thoughts to cling to through all his suffering.  He tried to ignore whatever else his torturers said and focused on a singular task: keeping Kylo away from Snoke.  Armitage Hux didn’t matter anymore.  His life had been forfeit the minute the Starkiller Weapon had been fired.  Possibly from the moment he’d been born.  _But Kylo…_ Kylo could still be saved.  He had a family that still loved him, despite his betrayal of their ideals.  If ever Hux engineered one bit of good in this universe, let it be that Kylo Ren made peace with whatever arcane forces drove his existence.  Let him be free to one day put an end to Snoke once and for all.

Steeled by his resolve, Hux nonetheless struggled to tamp down his curiosity as the flagellation stopped and the troopers approached him again.  Nothing happened, though they stood close enough behind him that he could see their blurry, black and white forms out of the corner of his eye. 

He felt that he should be grateful for this respite, but the locus of pain shifted rapidly throughout his body whenever the direct application of it stopped.  His tooth hurt.  His jaw ached.  His neck had cramped up from being twisted to one side.  His shoulders trembled under the strain of his own weight.  Something deep in the center of him had torn during that violent rape.  Any one of the many splintered bones in his hands or feet or chest pulsed with agony.  Save for the occasional, identifiable trickle of blood or sweat down his spine, his entire back burned as hot as the hypermatter core of a star destroyer.  The slight breeze in the massive hall only served to intensify every twinge.

Hux shivered in the cold.  His athletic frame (if he were being generous) lacked the insulation necessary to protect him from the deep chill of space.  There had never been a day when he hadn’t felt like he was freezing to death, even covered head to toe in uniform and greatcoat.  How he wished he had his coat now! Anything to cover his nakedness and lend him some warmth.

Eventually, the gravity of sleep pulled his eyelids shut, exhaustion winning out even over all the fear and torment.  He might have even blacked out for some time; his head swirled with disparate images and he found it harder and harder to pin down a complete thought in his mind. 

A cold, armored finger poked at one of the broken ends of rib that stuck out from his spine.  He gasped and tried to squirm away.  The finger continued to probe around the ragged edge of the wound.

“No sleeping.”

Hux opened his eyes and the trooper stopped prodding at him, leaving him to hang, trembling from the shackles.

He tried to stay awake, focusing on something that didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t do it for very long.  Pain radiated from everywhere, and for a moment he panicked, paranoid that they could read his mind, that they would find whatever didn’t hurt and _make_ it hurt.  The jolt of irrational fear helped keep his eyes open that much longer, though.

Out of habit, his fingers twitched whenever he tried to cope with the agony, drawing tiny whimpers from him.  Robbed of his usual coping method, he concentrated on directing his thoughts at Kylo again.  When his mind started to drift he sucked in a deep breath, relying on the sharpness of it to keep him focused.

The sounding of the bell dragged him from the edge of sleep again.  Eight chimes signaled the end of this watch, though he’d already lost track of which they were on.  _Middle? Morning, already?_ _What day, even?_ Behind him, he heard the clanking of boots as the guard changed.  One of the troopers going off duty remarked, “Don’t let him sleep.”

Someone laughed. “Don’t worry.  We’ll keep him busy.  He’s got a visitor this morning.”

“Scuttlebutt travels fast.”

“Yup.”

_Morning, then._

Hux didn’t waste energy wondering who his “visitor” might be -- whoever it was, it couldn’t be good -- but he felt a little more hope slip away upon hearing that he still wouldn’t be allowed to sleep.

And another thing to worry about: an uncomfortable pressure had been building in his bladder for the past few hours.  For once, Hux cursed his diligence.  He was normally assiduous about remaining hydrated throughout the workday.  It was a necessity aboard ship in the vacuum of space, what with the dehydrating, recycled air blowing non-stop, and of course with all the caf he consumed to power through his usual double-shift assignments.  He hadn’t had much to drink (and at least, now he could be thankful for having not eaten at all, and for having already addressed _that_ particular need) but the urgency was still pressing.

The thought of having to do it here, out in the open, in front of everyone caused a flush of humiliation to creep up his cheeks.

One of the guards noticed and ventured over to taunt him.  “Embarrassed, _General_?” she snickered.  “Feeling a bit exposed out here?”

Hux glared at her, debating whether or not to try and ask.  She didn’t seem very sympathetic from her sarcastic tone of address, and it would be even harder on his dignity to have to ask _permission_ to perform a bodily function from anyone, especially some lowly trooper.  In the end he decided he could hold it a while longer.  Perhaps whoever was coming to see him would bear more empathy toward him.

That hope was dashed upon the rocks of despair as soon as Hux heard the clipped staccato of an officer’s boots approaching and a voice that floated up out of his nightmare past like black smoke.  “Well, well, _well_.” Iolam Vratik, once a lieutenant commander, busted down to lieutenant for ineptitude and excessive cruelty toward his men, last Hux had heard.  But, also, one of Hux’s former bunkmates and the ringleader of his abusers throughout his entire five year stint at the academy.  “How long have I waited for _this_ day?”

Hux was rarely comfortable with people standing behind him, but with Vratik, even less so.  He knew Vratik was doing it to annoy and frighten him.  It angered him that it was working.  He could feel that the blush from earlier hadn’t yet left his cheeks and it made Hux even angrier to be seen like this by one such as him.

Still, Hux had to keep his emotions in check.  He couldn’t let on that he was afraid.  At the very least, Vratik must have had some sense of honor as an officer of the Order that Hux could appeal to.  His tongue worked to form words around the gag, but nothing intelligible came out.

“Hrrraaaagrrralllmmmnnnhurrr,” Vratik chuckled, mocking Hux’s inability to speak properly. “Reminds me of your latest speech.  Very eloquent.” He sauntered over to stand where Hux could see him.  “How many times a day have we all been subjected to your _fracking_ voice, screaming over the PA, am I right?” he looked back at the troopers, who snickered and nodded in agreement. “This is actually a pleasant change.”

Hux frowned but remained silent.  The only way to assuage his shame was to stay angry.  That wouldn’t prove difficult.

“Still, one can’t very well suck a dick, all trussed up like a grophet for market.” Vratik reached for the knot at the back of Hux’s head.

Hux growled.

The troopers all rushed forward, “Sir, no! We can’t allow him to speak; he’ll—”

“So? Are you _all_ idiots? Cut out his _fracking_ tongue, then!”

They stopped arguing, glancing around amongst themselves as though they were considering it. 

 _They wouldn’t!_ Hux’s eyes widened and he shouted garbled swears at Vratik, but stopped as he went back to untying the gag.  It fell away, and Hux sighed in relief, swallowing and coughing weakly to clear his throat.  “Vratik,” it still hurt to speak, and took deliberate effort to draw enough breath for a complete sentence, “you’re an officer. You took an oath. You can’t—”

“I can do whatever I want. Supreme Leader’s orders.” He grinned and grabbed Hux by the chin, jamming his knee into the small of Hux’s back and wrenching his head back so that he couldn’t do anything more than hiss between clenched teeth.  “Besides, scuttlebutt is, you’re not an officer anymore.  You’re not _anything_.” Vratik called over his shoulder, “Get me a knife, and a Bacta gun.  I’ll do it myself.”

The troopers hesitated a fraction too long.  They didn’t want to disobey an officer, but they wanted to disobey Snoke even less by letting this man do something that could possibly kill Hux.

“You heard me, imbeciles! That’s an order!”

The female trooper stepped forward first and offered up her vibroknife while another ran to collect a first-aid kit.

“Don’t you dare, Vratik! Don’t you _fracking_ dare! I’ll _fracking_ kill you! I’ll—”

Vratik put his other hand over Hux’s mouth and yanked back harder so that he didn’t have the leverage to bite him.  “Shh, don’t worry, it’ll grow back.  Eventually.  The teeth, hmm… not so much.  But, hey, I’m going to make you the fleet’s best cocksucker, so there’s always that.”

Hux squirmed and screamed into Vratik’s gloved palm.

“What’s that?” Vratik chuckled, “You already _are_ the fleet’s best cocksucker?”

The troopers returned with what he needed.

“You, come here, hold his head still.”

They did as they were told, an air of quiet excitement at the promise of violence hanging around them.

Vratik let go of Hux’s chin and pinched his nose shut.  The rage in Hux’s eyes glossed over to panic and pleading as he held his breath and struggled to shake his head from their grip.  _He wouldn’t! He’s just doing this to scare me!_

“When he opens his mouth, keep it open. Don’t you dare let him bite me.”

The knee in his back dug in harder and Hux whined in the back of his throat, but refused to open his mouth.  Fresh tears spilled from his eyes as he squeezed them shut.  _Please, don’t! Don’t let this be real!_ His lungs burned for lack of air.  His pulse pounded, causing all his injuries to throb in response.  Through all this, Vratik’s free hand drifted lower, reaching around to Hux’s chest and down past his flank to fondle him.  Hux bucked wildly against them but felt his energy waning as shame and agony pulsed through him.  Without air, he lost the strength to fight back.

On the edge of passing out, his lungs betrayed him and spasmed, gasping for air.  “Please! No!” he cried, his teeth clacking down on armored fingers as he tried in vain to close his mouth again.  A sharp pain as Vratik reached in with the cloth of the gag and grasped his tongue, pulling it forward so roughly that he nearly ripped it out, and then an even sharper pain as the vibroblade sliced through the straining muscle with little resistance.  Blood poured from his mouth and he felt himself lose control of his bladder, though the warmth flowing down his legs barely registered through the surge of anguish wracking his body.

Hux’s screams became shrieks, and Vratik had to shout over him to be heard. “Keep it open! Don’t let him _fracking_ choke!”

Hux gasped and gagged around the blood gurgling in his throat while Vratik ripped the seal from the Bacta putty, kneaded it between his palms for a few seconds to activate it, jammed it into the wide mouth of the delivery gun and pressed it to Hux’s lips, pulling the trigger.  The blast wasn’t enough to kill him -- it was a medical device after all, meant for delivering a net of Bacta into deep internal injuries -- but the percussive force from the barrel was strong enough to shatter his front teeth and further fracture his already broken jaw. 

His vision blurred with tears and the darkness that rushed in with overwhelming agony to claim him.

As Hux slipped into unconsciousness, he could barely make out Vratik’s voice through the screeching, high pitch in his ears. “That’s it. Let go. Tilt his head forward so he doesn’t choke…”


	8. Chapter 8

Kylo paced the edge of a panic attack as he strode the length of the ship, from the cargo bay to the cockpit and back again.  Frantic, his hands fisted in his tangled hair, he ran through the calculations over and over.

“No. This is wrong. This is all _fracked_ up. What did I do? Why is this happening?”

A _clang_ echoed through the cargo bay as he dropped to his knees, still clutching his head.  Everything was spinning again, pulling in to a point of hyper-awareness in the center of his vision, sucking him into a vortex of Hux’s pain and degradation.  His heart leapt in his chest as though he'd sprinted through hyperspace on his own. He berated himself, trying to regain focus.

“Why? WHY? _WHY?_ You stupid, _frelling_ idiot! Why did you think this would work?”

The ship had come out of hyperspace nowhere near where he’d planned.  The Unknown Regions had too many anomalies and false gravity well readings; as distracted as he was, he’d made a mistake.  Kylo had been adrift for more than half a standard day, all scans and probes returning no useable data.  Earlier, Hux’s agony had stopped, and so had Kylo’s heart, nearly.  He had dared to reach out, then, fearing the worst, but sensed that Hux was only unconscious, possibly sedated, which meant that he was receiving medical attention and everything was going to be fine.

And then it started again.

Barely an hour after he’d dropped into realspace, Kylo had settled into a deep meditative state, reaching out through the Force to sense his uncle’s presence.  Just as he’d glimpsed a glimmer in the darkness, a wave of distress crashed over him.  Humiliation, coupled with terror and lacerating, harrowing pain.  Kylo lost contact with Luke, and very nearly with reality itself, overwhelmed by Hux’s misery.  He could feel it, like another layer of existence overlaying his flesh: his bones crushed, his body violated, his skin torn. 

Through it all, Hux’s voice, mired in anguish but clear with purpose:

_Forget about me.  Leave me.  Don’t come here.  Please.  It’s a trap.  There is nothing for you here.  Please._

He was glad he didn’t have a lightsaber, or he might have found himself violently ejected into the void of space.  As it was, his barely contained rage caused the hull to creak in protest.

His love.  In so much pain.  And he could do _nothing_.

Kylo was terrified, too, of dying out here.  Alone.  In the middle of nowhere.  Lacking the concentration to re-establish that tenuous connection to his former master through all this torment.  He screamed his fury into the empty blackness beyond the viewport, stopping only when the transparisteel cracked in response.

“No, no, no, no, no, don’t do that. Don’t do that. Alright. Calm down. It’s gonna be alright.” He’d almost gotten ahold of himself when the tears came.  He’d never felt anyone so overwhelmed by agony, and it had never affected him this profoundly.  _Tage… I’m so sorry…_

He could go back to Snoke.  Snoke would take him back.  Without question.  He always had, no matter how many times Kylo had disappointed him.  It would be a simple matter of letting down this tiresome guard.  Just opening up that dark door in his mind from which Snoke always entered.  If he begged, pleaded, prostrated himself before his master he might leave Hux alone. 

 _Might._  

It wasn’t enough. 

Immersed in self-doubt, he sobbed into his hands, crying out through the Force as much as aloud, “I can’t do this. I can’t. I need help. Please. Someone. Anyone…”

“This is a dangerous time for you, Ben.”

He gasped at the sound of the voice.  Through watery eyes, a faint blue light wavered as if he were drowning in his anguish, looking up to salvation from the bottom of the ocean. 

Kylo blinked up at the apparition; scrubbed at his eyes as though clearing his vision would make the sight any more believable.  “Grandfather?”

Anakin Skywalker, as he was -- younger than Ben before he fell -- looked on him with pity and understanding.

“All this time… you could see me?”

Anakin nodded.

Kylo took in a deep, hitching breath.  He wanted to scream.  _Why have you never come to me before? Why now? Where were you when I needed you more than anything? When I had nothing? When I was still Ben?_

“Snoke? He kept you from me? Blocked you somehow…” Kylo said, not as much a question as a stab at understanding.

Anakin shook his head.  “No.”

Kylo grit his teeth, rage igniting, “Then—” but stopped, true understanding dawning even as he denied it.

The phantom watched him, waiting. Patient.

Another deep breath.  And another.  Calming.  Shaking.

His shoulders sagged.  He exhaled, and let the tremulous breath carry the truth from his lips, “I— It was me.”

“You had to make my mistakes.  You had to understand.  You had to accept your own responsibility before you could truly accept my help.”

And Kylo did accept it.  He had given everything up for his greed, trusting all the wrong people and for all the wrong reasons.  Time and again he’d soaked himself in the blood of the innocent, in pursuit of power from a being who never had any intention of giving it to him.

Anakin nodded again, as though he could sense Kylo’s thoughts and feelings from beyond the grave.  “You are on the right path _now_.  In your heart you know this, because it’s not easy anymore.  It’s never going to be.” 

Kylo could swear he saw tears in his grandfather’s eyes.  Before, he thought he’d seen only pity and disappointment.  How could someone who’d done and learned so much feel empathy for a fool like him?

“But I… I have to go back. I don’t want to! But it’s the only way to save him.”

Anakin blinked ghostly tears from his eyes and shook his head again, frowning. “No. I killed my love, turning to the power of the Dark Side. Don’t you dare make that same mistake, too.”

“Wh—what?” Kylo looked up at him, bewildered. “But, she… I thought she died in childbirth.”

“She died because of _me_!” Slivers of red and black sparked through the diaphanous blue, arcing through his form like lightning before the anger left him and he returned to his serene state. “She died because I craved a power I did not deserve, because I wanted to save my _image_ of her. I didn’t care who she really was. What she really wanted. I was selfish, and foolish. I thought I was doing it for the right reasons. I wasn’t.”

Kylo stared up at him in awe and confusion.  His once indefatigable certainty wavered.  He’d never heard this part of the story.

“By the time I realized what I’d done, it was too late.  Padme was dead, and I…” He lowered his gaze, seeming to stare through Kylo, into the distance. “I was no longer myself.  Trapped under the spell of the master I’d trusted.  He weakened me to keep me in servitude.  I was powerless to defeat him, so I threw myself into the choice I’d made.  I fooled myself again, and again, thinking that I could outsmart him. That I could steal his secrets.  That the further and further I immersed myself in the Dark Side, the more powerful I would become.  That I could change what I’d done.  That I could make it right again.  But, the further you fall to the Dark Side, the less you care about anyone but yourself.  You think _I’m_ powerful? Even I couldn’t undo the things I’d done. No one can do that.”

Kylo sat, saying nothing, considering how he’d allowed his own pride to mislead him.  Anakin spoke truth.  He’d very nearly become more like Darth Vader than he’d ever dreamed.  Kylo, too, had thought about joining Snoke only to destroy him from within once he’d gleaned what esoteric knowledge he could, never imagining that he could be, himself, destroyed in the process.  He thought himself too powerful, too smart to allow that to happen. But he was every bit the arrogant fool Anakin had been.

“I feel your love for this man who is suffering now.  I _know_ your pain.  Do not let it destroy you, too.”  The voice faded, and with it the light.  Kylo sat quietly for a few moments, taking in what he’d just witnessed.

This time, Kylo wouldn’t let his own light be diminished.

He stood, on quaking legs, and stumbled to the cockpit.  Slumping into the pilot’s chair he slowed his breathing and pushed away his connection to his husband, burying it deep in his soul where he could dampen it.  It hurt almost as much to ignore the bond as to experience it.  He told himself that this was the unselfish thing to do, that this was what Hux wanted him to do, but it still didn’t make it any easier.

Undisturbed by the constant onslaught of pain, he cast about through the network of the Force for the familiar green glow of his uncle’s unique signature.  Beside it, a bright blue twinkled.  The girl.

*Uncle, I know, now, what I must do. Will you help me do it?* Similar words he’d spoken before, but this time he believed it.

He sensed Luke’s hesitation and let down his guard, allowing his former master to see into the deepest recesses of his heart, to know that he was sincere and to beg for forgiveness.

*…I will.*


	9. Chapter 9

Hux’s face was a nexus of pain and saliva and congealed blood.

And someone was inside him again.

Vratik.

 _He’s still here?_ _How long have I been out?_

Hux groaned.  Even the sound hurt.

“So, the sleeping prince awakens.” Vratik pushed in harder, grinding Hux into the column. “You didn’t used to drool this much when I fucked you.  Are you that hungry for my dick?”

Hux was certain he was going to vomit.  The blood-tinged spit wouldn’t stop dribbling from his mouth, but he couldn’t stomach swallowing any more of it.  Swallowing was too difficult and painful anyway.  The salty taste of his blood mingled with the cloying sweetness of the Bacta gel and the smell of it reminded him of a strange, acidic, yellow fruit he’d once tasted while part of a diplomatic mission in his youth.  The one that had made him sick for weeks.  He’d always hated Bacta after that.  A week in a tank after a bad speeder bike crash in his academy days had further associated the scent with a feeling of claustrophobia.  At least the Bacta had mostly stopped the bleeding and sealed up the holes where his teeth used to be. He just wanted Vratik to finish and stop moving and leave him alone in his wretchedness.

As if on cue, Vratik pulled out roughly and left him to hang there in shame, blood once more trickling down his thighs.  Before he got too hopeful, though, the binders slid down, dropping him to his knees.  The sudden jolt sent a shock of pain up his spine, but he also gasped at the slight relief to his ribs and shoulders.

Vratik came back and grabbed a handful of Hux’s hair, pulling him forward toward his filthy cock.  Hux jerked his head back and looked up at him in disbelief, whimpering, pleading.  His cries were cut off as Vratik shoved his length down Hux’s throat, choking him. 

Every time Hux thought something couldn’t possibly hurt any worse, the galaxy conspired to prove him wrong.  He tried not to think about where that dick had just been.  Every thrust dragged across his chapped and bruised lips like sandpaper.  The blinding flashes of pain made it easier to not think, but he had to concentrate, had to force himself to relax his throat and suppress his gag reflex.  He couldn’t imagine the agony vomiting would cause him right now.  It might kill him.

The loose scabs over his gums opened up again, exposing the raw nerve ends, but his jaw was too swollen to open up any further.  White lightning shot through the inky black swirling around the edge of his vision and Hux begged his body to comply and let him pass out again.

Looking down at his dick, smeared with Hux’s blood, Vratik came almost instantly, pouring his load down Hux’s throat.  He’d been fantasizing about this for decades -- a chance to fuck the haughty General Hux into submission again -- never imagining it might come true.  Hux’s gurgled screams vibrated around him, and he pulled the redhead closer, burying himself deeper into that hot, wet mouth and shivering with pleasure, only releasing Hux when he sagged in his grip and Vratik feared he might accidentally suffocate the ex-general.  Vratik had no desire to end up in a similar position should he displease the Supreme Leader.

He stepped back, letting Hux’s head fall forward, and grinned at the bloody cum dripping from his lips and the rivulets of drying crimson streaming down his shredded back and alabaster thighs.  He had only just begun, but already Hux was a work of art worthy of admiration.  Thinking it might be wise to play it safe, he commed for a medic to come check up on Hux, cleaned himself up, and headed off for his next duty shift, leaving the guards to their own fun.


	10. Chapter 10

Kylo brought the shuttle in to land near the Falcon, its running lights the only visible sign of life on the nightside of the lonely planet.

His chest constricted when he saw the old junk heap again.  He still couldn't quite believe that he would never see his father at the helm again.

As the landing struts of Kylo’s shuttle settled on the beachfront, and the hiss of the hydraulics kicked up sand, Chewbacca stepped out from the Falcon, bowcaster in hand but not raised.  With a deep breath and a heavy sigh, Kylo put the ship in standby and pushed himself up out of the pilot’s seat.  He clutched his still unhealed side as he stepped out to meet the Wookiee.

Chewbacca eyed him with suspicion.  His paw twitched over the safety, and Kylo had no doubt he wanted to take another shot at him.  Rage, equally tempered with sadness and confusion, rippled from the Wookiee.  Kylo thought about putting his hands up to seem non-threatening, but with the power of the Force at his command that gesture could be easily misconstrued, so he stood there leaning against the ramp and struggling to hold his Uncle Chewie’s accusatory gaze.  It hurt to raise his arms anyway.

He expected a roar, but only the smallest of trills came from the Wookiee.

“<Why?>”

A question he’d been asking himself for the last 6 days.

Kylo cast his gaze downward, feeling the shame well up within him.  He hated it.  Hated this uncertainty and feeling so adrift.  This gut-wrenching feeling of _wrongness_.  He wanted to be angry, to feel powerful again, fueled by rage and passion.  He hadn’t even realized he was crying until a tear rolled down and stung the ragged wound that bisected his face. 

What answer could he give this being who’d spent the last 40 or so years in service to a life debt of friendship and loyalty to his father?

What answer could he give himself?

It turned out he didn’t need one, at least for now.  The Wookiee closed the distance between them in a few long strides and pulled him into a gentle hug.  Great, furry hands (capable of twisting his head off in one easy motion) lifted his chin with a tenderness he’d long forgotten.  Chewie observed him in silence, tilting his head from side to side and trailing a claw along the underside of the old patches covering the gash.

Another soft growl, more of an accusation than a question: “<You haven’t been looking after this?>”

“I… had other things on my mind.”

“<Come with me.>” Chewbacca moved toward the Falcon but stopped and turned back when Kylo didn’t follow.

“I need to find Master Skywalker.  It’s urgent.”

“<Medicine first.>” His hairy paw nudged Kylo’s shoulder as he flicked his gaze up the shadowed path through the mountains. “<It’s a long walk.>”

Kylo sighed and nodded, going along without argument.

In the Millennium Falcon again, Chewbacca motioned for Kylo to lie down in the berth that passed for the medbay.  R2-D2 rolled over, beeping a question at the Wookiee, who shrugged and went about gathering up the Bacta gel and bandages.  The droid, clearly upset, shifted from side to side and unleashed a rude cadence of bleeps and whistles at Kylo, and at Chewbacca for ignoring him.

“No,” Kylo groaned, dropping his robe and tunic on the floor and easing back onto the uncomfortable bed. “I’m not here to kill Luke.”

The astromech rolled forward, ranting and extending a claw arm threateningly.  Kylo almost laughed; R2 had to know he could crush it with but a thought.  He admired the plucky droid’s bravery and loyalty to its master.

“I’m here to put things right. Or… try to.”

R2 blatted something snippy about there being “no try” and rolled away, muttering to itself.

Kylo hissed as Chewbacca peeled away the old bandages and sprayed some disinfectant on his wounds.  Hux had put some Bacta patches on him when he'd come to his rescue, but Kylo hadn’t changed them since then.  Where the edges had crusted and peeled back, he could see the inflamed pink that signaled infection.  Surprisingly, the gut wound didn’t hurt nearly as much as the fiery trench that had been dug from his shoulder, up his neck, and across his face.  He was thankful he couldn’t see it.  It smelled bad enough.

Chuffing in disappointment, Chewie cleaned up what he could and changed out Kylo’s dressings, replacing them with fresh Bacta gel and patches. 

“Thank you,” Kylo mumbled, starting to get up before Chewbacca pushed him down again.

“<Stay.  Rest.  Luke will come to you when he is ready.>”

Kylo considered then nodded.  He could imagine the scavenger girl tearing down the mountain already, itching to finish what she’d started, and he was in no shape to deal with her anger now.

Chewie started to walk away, but Kylo called out to him, “Chewie… I’m sorry.  I know that’s not enough. It could _never_ be enough, but… I’m sorry.”

The Wookiee stopped and stood very still for a while, but didn’t turn around.  His broad, furry shoulders shook with the deep breaths he took to calm himself.  He had always been prepared to lose Han, and as the years wore on and his friend silvered and slowed, as humans did, it was something Chewbacca found himself thinking about more frequently.  But he _never_ anticipated it would be at the hands of Han's own cub. 

Finally, he grunted a quiet acknowledgement -- not forgiveness, but Kylo supposed it was at least a start -- and shuffled off.

Kylo had just begun to drift off to much-needed sleep when the clipped voice of an ill-tempered, young woman sounded from down the corridor.

“Where is he? Is he in here?”

_Well. That was fast._

Kylo pushed himself to sit up a bit.  No way in the Nine Hells he’d be caught flat on his back again by this girl.

She stormed past the protesting Chewie and brandished her -- _his_ \-- lightsaber at him.  “I will _not_ let you come here and ruin everything!” she shouted, shaking in her fury, “You’re not welcome here! Leave! Now!”

The girl had power, for certain, but she lacked discipline.  As distracted as she was by her roiling emotions, it was a simple matter for Kylo to call the hilt from her hand to his.  This time, it came to him with little effort.  Rey jumped back, eyes wide, and unslung her staff from her shoulder in one fluid motion.  She knew it would do no good against a lightsaber, but she was prepared to fight, to the end if necessary.

Ignoring her, pretending she wasn’t a threat, Kylo turned the heirloom over in his hand.  An unwanted flood of memories washed around the periphery of his mind.  “I wasn’t lying when I said this was _mine_.”  He held it to his side and kept the blade turned off, indicating that he had no desire or intention to fight her, but that he was most certainly not letting her have it back.  “It was stolen from me.  How did you end up with it, anyway?”

“What?” Rey stared at him, incredulous. _How can he be so callous? How can he just talk to me like nothing happened at all?_ "How? That's--"

"--Not important right now."  Luke stood in the hatchway, meeting Kylo's eyes and nodding a solemn, cautious greeting. "Ben."

"It's Kylo," he snapped, but there was little vitriol in it.

Luke remained unperturbed, even as he glanced pointedly at the saber and back. "Is it?"

Kylo stared at him for a long time. It was a challenge to hold his gaze; he was certain that Luke could see the parts of him long held in the shadows as easily as if they’d been illuminated by the sun. Too exhausted for navel-gazing or argument, Kylo swallowed and looked away.

"Master, you're not seriously going to let him stay here?" Rey looked between the two of them in confusion and disbelief.

Luke observed Kylo for a long while before sighing, "He asked for my help.  I failed him once; I'm not running away again.  We both have much to atone for."  He took another deep breath and turned to Rey, "Come. He needs his rest, and so do we."

The young woman frowned, her lips pressed into a thin line of determination. She shot another withering look at Kylo before backing out of the room and following her master.

Once they had gone, Kylo turned over in the bed and curled around his prize, running his thumb over the scratches and dings on the hilt. _Was it worth all this?_

He didn't stop to ask himself whether he was talking about the saber or something more.


	11. Chapter 11

Breathing had become slightly easier over the last few days... _weeks, hours?_ Hux had no way of knowing how long he’d been standing; he’d tried to follow the sound of the chimes and count the shift changes just to have something to occupy his mind other than complete hopelessness, but he’d lost track during all the assaults he’d endured.  

They'd been threatening to break his arms if he didn't stand up, so here he was, teetering on his broken feet and trying to use the pain to distract himself from his hunger and thirst, and the memories of his childhood that those feelings brought back.  The visions of his past seemed real sometimes.  Too real.  The longer he went without sleep, water, or food, the harder it was to remember where, and _when_ , he was.  Even with his eyes open, reality wasn’t always what it seemed.

The possibility existed that he'd made all this up: he was no powerful general, with a giant, solar system destroying weapon and a vast fleet at his command. That was silly. Just the imagination of a frightened child desperately seeking to lose himself in escapism.  Hux was still stuffed into that footlocker in his father’s quarters, being starved after a beating, and drugged with something that muddled his mind, because he'd been _bad_ again and needed _correction_.  He was only dreaming of a future where nothing bad could ever happen to him again because he'd be the one in charge.  He’d be a soldier someday.  He'd be a general.  He'd be the emperor, too.  Just like Sloane.  No, _better_ than Sloane; that’s what she wanted for him.  _Someday._   Someday he would show them _all._

 _I promise I'll_ _try harder_ _, Father! I promise! Please let me out! I swear I won’t fail you again!_

He tried to say it out loud, but something was wrong with his mouth.  It was too dry and thick with blood for the words to come out.  His voice sounded strange; scratchy and too deep to be the voice of a child.

Other voices were there, too, buzzing behind him.

"Is he trying to say something?"

"He’s been holding it a while. Probably has to piss again."

“Pretty sure he’s had enough of that by now.”

Laughter. Mechanical and cold.

 _Cold_. He was freezing, shivering against something rough and unforgiving, but his skin was also burning hot.  Sweat dripped from his fevered brow and stung his eyes and the abrasions on his face.  He wasn't in the locker after all, but the pain and the thirst were real.  _This_ was real.  His mouth felt as dry as if he had been wandering in the Goazon Badlands for a week.

"Wa--" he stammered, tried again and again, but he couldn't form the "t" or the "-er" at the end of the word.  Then he remembered why.  Fear crept up to silence him.

A guard had approached and leaned in to listen to the rasp of his thin voice. "What's that? Oh, you want water, is that it?"

Moving his head set it to throbbing, but he nodded as best he could.

The trooper reached for his hip flask and Hux fought to keep the need from his eyes, though his anguish must have been apparent as the soldier tipped the canteen toward him and let the water spill out just beyond his reach.

And reach he did.  Pride long forgotten, he strained against his bonds, desperate for even a drop of the clear, clean, cool water, groaning as it disappeared before his eyes.  He would have cried, but the salt had dried around the red rims of his eyes, and anyway he needed to conserve what little moisture remained in him.  He choked out a few dry sobs and sagged against the pillar, exhausted by his efforts.

“If he wants water so bad, I’ve got some for him.”

Hux almost opened his mouth when the warm liquid splashed against his face, but then the acrid smell hit him at the same time.  He flinched and tried to wrench his head away, whining in disgust and humiliation.  The troopers laughed.  One of them pinched his nose shut, the keening in his throat intensifying until he had to gasp for air.  He gagged on the sudden burning of the foul piss in his mouth.  They yanked his head back, forcing him to swallow it if he wanted to breathe. 

Screaming in rage and indignation, he tried to cough and spit it out once they’d let go of him.  His stomach heaved but he was too weak to bring anything up.  Excruciating pain radiated out from his chest at every vain attempt to disgorge the foul matter in his system.  The last of his strength left him and he collapsed in the chains, his trembling legs finally giving out.

“Hey. Get up.”

“We told you what would happen if you got lazy.”

 _No, no, no, no…_   Hux scrambled to get his feet under him again, but they kept slipping in the bloody slick of filth under him.  He couldn’t take the pain anymore and he couldn’t quite pull in enough breath to fuel his muscles.  Every gasp caught in his throat and stabbed into his chest like a vibroblade hitting its mark.  He begged his body for death.  _Just stop breathing! Stop trying! Please!_

Hux couldn’t do anything but watch, panicking and bracing himself for more pain, whimpering helplessly as the trooper brought his riot baton crashing down onto his forearm.  The muffled crack reverberated through him, chased by pain as sharp and quick as the electric jolt that followed.  The instantaneous tension in his muscles and the weight of his own body did the rest to pull the shattered bones apart.  Wheezing out screams that were little more than whispers, he somehow managed to push himself up into a precarious half-crouch in an attempt to relieve the agony in his arm.  It felt as though his tortured feet were balancing on shards of stone and broken glass.  Tremors wracked his body, exacerbating every twinge.

 _Let me die! Please, just_ fracking _kill me!_

Unable to hold that position for long, Hux wailed in despair as he once again sank toward the deck.  His cry morphed from one of anguish to anger and hate.  He hated everyone who had betrayed him, who’d left him here to this torture, but mostly he hated himself for having fallen into such a vulgar state: robbed of the grace of speech, stripped of his clothing, made to feel so dirty, degraded, and disgraced.  Less than the lowest of beasts.

Hux found himself at the core of his father’s lessons once again: threat of death was useless.  Only pain -- reducing someone to their basest, animal instincts -- ensured that you got what you wanted out of them.  Only when they begged for the mercy of death would they be ready to do your bidding.  Hux had become a broken, hollowed out thing whose only desire was avoiding more humiliation and pain, but the relentless voice in his head told him this was _still_ only the beginning. There would be no end. Even so, if there had been anything he could have given them to make this stop, he would have done it without reservation.  He had never been so thankful to know nothing of Kylo’s whereabouts.

Once they’d learned that degradation meant more to him than physical pain, it hadn’t even taken them as long as he’d thought it would to break his spirit, though he couldn’t really be sure how much time had passed since being dragged into this hell.  His mind couldn’t focus on anything for more than a few seconds before some new torment scattered his thoughts and obscured the line between delirium and reality.

Had they broken one of his legs, too? He couldn’t remember.  Perhaps he had just lost track of where the pain was coming from, now that there were so few places on or in his body that didn’t hurt.  Was he even capable of passing out anymore, or had his body betrayed him, too, resetting its threshold for pain? He longed for death, or at the very least unconsciousness.

Hux wondered if he were passing out when a voice from his nightmares called from across the stadium, “Good evening, dutiful troopers.  Look at what I found! One of the cadets left this beauty lying around.” 

Vratik had returned.

Hux recognized the unmistakable _hiss_ and _click_ of a blowtorch _whooshing_ to life.

Though he knew he lacked the strength and leverage, with his head twisted to the side, to cause any fatal damage, Hux was beyond rational thought.  Driven by terror, he smashed the side of his head against the column as hard as he could, again and again, hoping to at least hurt himself badly enough to pass out. 

“Oh, come now, Armie,” Vratik strode up behind him and grabbed a handful of his hair, jerking his head back so he couldn’t move, “I haven’t seen you in two whole duty cycles! The party’s just getting started; surely you wouldn’t want to miss it?”

Black spots danced in his vision; he’d been so close.  He could feel blood streaming down the side of his face and pooling in his ear.

“That’s a nasty cut you’ve given yourself.  I’d hate for it to become infected.”

Vratik clicked the blowtorch on again.

The sound that Hux made then was the smallest, most pathetic noise Vratik had ever heard -- a tiny not-quite-whimper, not-quite-sob that sounded as pleasing as the most perfectly tuned double viol.  Vratik closed his eyes, sighing at the shiver of pleasure that he felt in his gut.  His cock twitched in his trousers.  He leaned closer to Hux, his breath hot against his ear, and whispered, “Gods, I love the sounds you make.  I’m going to make you sing for me.”

Hux tried to stay quiet as Vratik brought the tip of the flame closer to his forehead, but he was too exhausted to fight anymore.  Feeling his skin begin to bubble and blister, he squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to form the litany of pleas in his head into words.  All he managed were strangled, inarticulate squeals that Vratik continued to mock.

Even after he’d pulled the torch away and released his hold on Hux’s head, the wound continued to burn as though it had caught fire.  Hux pressed the injury to the cold stone of the pillar, seeking any kind of relief from the searing pain.  The pressure hurt, but the cool permacrete did siphon away a modicum of heat.

Hux tensed in anticipation when he felt Vratik’s fingers at the back of his neck, but he was only fiddling with the chain on which he wore his ident tags.

And his wedding ring.

_No!_

“Seeing as you won’t be needing these anymore,” Vratik unclasped the fastener and pulled the chain from around Hux’s neck, “I think I’ll just keep them for mys— Oh! What have we here? Electrum and… neuranium, is it? Orichalc? Fancy! Is this… a _wedding_ ring?" Vratik chuffed, "Well, I never! So, who’s the unlucky bride that was forced to marry your faggot ass?”

He almost regretted cutting out Hux’s tongue. 

“Let’s see… it’s not Phasma, is it? You two are inseparable, but…”  Vratik hummed as he considered, watching Hux for a reaction. “No, everyone knows she’s a dyke.  And she wouldn’t bother being your cover when everyone knows what a degenerate sissy you are anyway… but, wait… you weren’t wearing this in the open.  That means it’s a secret.  Or you’re ashamed of it.  It’s a man, isn’t it?”  He sniffed in disdain.  “Of course it is.  But, who…”

Vratik turned to the guards, holding up the chain to show them the flashy ring. “Did you know he was married?”

They all shook their heads.  “No, sir.”

“Where is Phasma, anyway? She’d know. I’d put credits on it. Or that little bitch boy of his, what’s his name… Misaka? Mistake?”

“Lieutenant Mitaka?” one of the troopers offered.  “They’re in the brig, sir.  At least, Captain Phasma is.  No one knows what happened to the XO.”

“Ooo, it’s not Mitaka, is it?” Vratik turned back to Hux, “He’s just a lieutenant; you’d _have_ to keep that a secret.  That would ruin you both.  No?”

Hux didn’t respond, though he almost wished he could have told him.  He would have at least gotten some pleasure out of seeing the look on Vratik’s face when he found out he was torturing Kylo Ren’s husband.  It was enough to bring the most miniscule of smug tilts to his lips.  Someday, though he wouldn’t be around to see it, Kylo would unleash the retribution of an aggrieved god upon Vratik.  The thought of it brought Hux the tiniest bit of satisfaction in this otherwise abominable existence.

“Hmm…” Vratik thought about it for a while, watching the ring sparkle under the bright lights.  The only person who had access to orichalc was the Emperor himself, and something told him that this wasn’t imitation.  “No. This is well out of his paygrade.”  Finally, he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, I suppose.  Point is, if you bothered to hide it, you wanted to keep it safe.  And if you wanted it safe, that means it’s precious to you.”

Vratik slid the ident tags off the chain and pocketed them, then dangled the ring where Hux could see it and struck up the torch again.

A profound sense of desolation descended over Hux as the ring grew white hot and began to warp and melt.  What was left of his hope slipped away with each molten drop.  At least with the ring he’d felt he still had some connection, some tiny piece of Kylo with him.  He sobbed quietly and tried to tell himself he was stupid for allowing himself such sentiment over a meaningless piece of metal.

But it wasn’t meaningless.  The orichalc base came from the Empire’s most valuable collection of rarities, a secret treasure hoard code-named Catalog Nineteen; the electrum detailing, from Emperor Palpatine’s own lightsaber; and, binding it all together, neuranium -- a metal so dense it could stop lightsaber energy and short out scanners, and so heavy that certain alien species could detect the tiny warp it made in the space-time continuum.  The inscription read, in old Arkanisian, “<Forever lost, forever found, forever separate, yet forever bound.>”  Kylo had scoured the galaxy for just the right materials.  Things that meant something.  Things that would be important to Hux.

Things precious and rare enough to show how precious and rare Hux was to him. 

He’d snorted in mock derision when Kylo had told him that, but that ring had meant more to Hux than anything he’d ever owned.  Few people in the universe had ever done anything kind for him, and fewer still had ever loved him.

Now, he felt truly alone.

Perhaps soon, if Kylo was right, his energy might join the Force, where they would one day be together again.  Hux wasn’t sure if he believed that, but it was all he had.


	12. Chapter 12

“The Jedi were wrong.”

Kylo felt he had waited his entire life to hear those words fall from his uncle’s lips. 

Before he had come here, humbled by the weight of his sins, Kylo would have gloated at Luke's admission, but he’d somehow learned a modicum of humility since Luke and Rey had deigned to take him in.  And if he wasn't quite ready to admit that to himself, he could pass it off as a tactful need to appear respectful.  He was still trying to process his encounter with Anakin, reluctant to accept that the Dark Side was not as all-powerful as he had believed (and more so that _he_ was not as strong as he’d believed).  His physical injuries, though nearly healed, still kept him from exhibiting his peak performance.  Or, more likely, guilt was distracting him more than he wanted to acknowledge.  Rey had nearly crushed him under a falling boulder three days ago due to his distraction.

They still hadn’t had the conversation that loomed ever closer on the horizon, and Kylo was all for avoiding it as long as possible. Rey didn't seem so eager to have it either, though Kylo suspected she knew now who he was to her.  Perhaps Luke had told her.  She was a bright girl, though; she'd probably figured it out on her own.  Every time she glanced at him, which occurred more often than she'd have liked, she seemed closer to admitting the truth.  He sensed her anger over her abandonment, but facing that meant she had to accept that she was related to him, and she clearly wasn't ready for that.

Though he hadn't had the foresight to see that she'd end up facing Snoke anyway, Kylo wasn't ready to apologize for stripping her mind of everything that she had been and leaving her on Jakku to fend for herself.  He had done what he thought he _had_ to do to save her from what Snoke had already done to him.  At the time, it had been the right thing, it had been the only thing, and it had been the _hardest_ thing he'd ever done.  But keeping her safe from Snoke had meant keeping her from his own thoughts as well.  In time, he'd thrown himself into his training with Luke and forgotten all about her, convincing himself that she was dead.  It was safer for her, and easier for him that way.  Though he often woke in tears from nightmares that left him with a sense of guilt and foreboding, he could not recall the content.  He missed his sister.  He loved his sister.  And that was how he knew she could never forgive him.

He didn't expect her to.

Kylo understood, now, that it had not been his call to make.  He had been a stupid, desperate teenager convinced of his own selflessness, but he’d never even considered her thoughts on the matter.  He'd justified it by telling himself she was just a child, she couldn't possibly have understood, and that their parents hadn’t been able to stop Snoke from corrupting him, so how could they have saved her?  He was sorry for the things she'd suffered, and the miserable existence she'd been forced to live, but he wasn't sorry for what he'd done to protect her.  He doubted that he ever would be, even if that meant she hated him for the rest of his life.  And that was ok.  He deserved it.

Still, he didn't want her trying to kill him at every available opportunity, as she was now.  He ducked just in time for her borrowed saber to slice through the air where his head had been. 

Luke continued speaking as they danced around one another. "The Jedi taught that the only path to peace was through denying our emotions.  Denying our kinships and connections to one another." Luke's glance lingered on his students slightly longer than necessary to drive his point home. "But, that kind of isolation is dangerous.  One cannot find peace without balance, and one cannot create balance in the Force through external conflict alone.  Jedi versus Sith.  Dark versus Light.  Right versus Wrong.  The balance must be found within each of us, ourselves.  If we do not, we will fail again and again, as our ancestors have for millennia."

It was Kylo’s turn to go on the offensive, sweeping at Rey’s feet.  The blue blade thrummed as it cut through the weeds.  As she jumped to avoid the hit, he used a push from the Force to knock her backwards.

The sage looked to each of them, to be sure that what he was saying was sinking in.  "Each of us has a balance of Light and Dark, warring for dominance. I’ve come to believe that the truth lies in not fighting it at all.  We must accept that all Light casts shadow, and that Dark cannot exist without the light that reveals it."

"You sound like Revan," Kylo quipped, showing off his knowledge.  He jumped backwards as Rey recovered her footing and sprang at him, thrusting her saber like a spear.

"That is precisely who I mean to reference."

Rey readied another jab and frowned, unfamiliar with the name but not wanting to show it in front of Kylo.

Luke explained, alleviating Rey’s discomfort without calling attention to it. “Revan was once a powerful Jedi who fell to the Dark Side and then returned to the Light, though he only found true peace in accepting the duality of his nature.  All Force users must do the same if we are to survive and bring balance to the galaxy.”

“But,” Rey stammered, “You _are_ a Jedi. I thought the Jedi fought for the Light, for everything good.  The Sith cared only about _themselves_.”  She glared at Kylo on that last word as he effortlessly parried another of her inexperienced swings.  Rey was a fierce fighter, but she was used to fighting dirty, combining speed and brute force to claw her way through a fight.  It took practice to finesse a lightsaber into working with your style.  It took a special attunement with the blade that developed over time.  She lacked the discipline and artistry necessary to wield a lightsaber, though Kylo admitted she was a quick study and had improved considerably since their last fight.

“Most who fall to the Dark Side do so because they think what they’re trying to accomplish is _good_. Right and wrong are not always so clear cut. The Force is powerful, but it is only the Force.  It only becomes good or evil through the hands that wield it.”

Luke let them absorb the knowledge, turn it over in their heads as he watched them fight.  He could sense when the understanding came over them.

“So, you want us to… use the Dark Side?” Rey blinked, stepping away from Kylo’s renewed attacks.  “That isn’t dangerous?”

“It is.  But it can be a powerful tool.  The anger you feel toward one another, the fear of the future; let it work for you as it did for me when I defeated Vader.  Let it flow _through_ you, but do not let it consume you.  Use it, then let it go.  You are in control.  There is no need to fear the Dark Side.  The choice to step away from it is always there for you to take.”

Rey hesitated to allow her anger to break the calm surface of her thoughts, fearful that she would not be able to control it once she released it.  But, as Kylo gained the upper hand in the fight, she couldn’t help but feed off each minor annoyance until it built up into frenzy.  She lashed out with a blast of her own, screaming as Kylo was thrown back, “You killed our father! Why?”

_Well, that answers that._

Kylo, unprepared for the strength of her onslaught, found himself scurrying to get to his feet.  He rolled and blocked, their blades sparking each time they crossed, and spun away from her, suddenly on the defensive mentally as well as physically.

_This isn’t exactly how I thought this would go down._

“Answer me!” she punctuated the shout with another jab, dangerously close to the mark.

Kylo glanced over to Luke, who remained to the side, calmly observing; he sensed no intent to step in.  Not yet.  He held back his initial, inflammatory reaction -- _I don’t answer to you!_ \-- and opted to stay quiet rather than fuel her fiery temper.  He grimaced as their sabers crossed again, not realizing his continued silence on the matter only frustrated and angered her more, making her even more powerful.

“I waited, _so long_ , for my family and you—” she was crying now, and spitting mad, “ _You_ took him away from me before I even got to know him! Twice!”

_So she knows about Jakku, too._

Kylo locked eyes with her, their blades sputtering mere centimeters from their faces.  He could see how much he’d hurt her.  Han had been something of a father to her even before she knew that he really was.  _Would he have stayed for her? Would he have believed her? Helped her? He wouldn’t have feared her as he had me._  Kylo couldn’t bear the thought.  Han had given up on him.  Even his mother had given up on him.  But they wouldn’t have given up on their precious little girl.  A black fog of jealousy descended over him, clouding his judgment.  He fought back with his own dark energy, shoving her away with a feral growl.

“He abandoned me when I needed him most! He would have done the same to you!” Even as he shouted it, he knew it was a lie.

“You didn’t have to kill him!”

She swung a wild arc through the air, and Kylo stepped to the side, deactivating his lightsaber.  He swiped away his own tears before she could see them.  “No. I didn’t.”

Rey turned on him, moments from striking him down, and stopped.  Tears streamed down her cheeks.  She _wanted_ to kill him.  Every muscle in her body hummed with hatred, and that animal desire frightened her.  Panting, she closed her eyes and fought to control herself, turning away from the cold, black temptation that surged through her, urging her to sate her base instinct for revenge.  It was not an easy thing to do, letting go of such immense and freely accessible power, but she was getting the hang of it.  With a sob, she clicked off her own blade.

“I can’t accept this.  I won’t.”  She tossed Luke’s lightsaber back to him.  “I wish I’d never left Jakku!”

 _So do I_ , Kylo wanted to say.  Not out of malice, but sincerity.  She never would have been hurt like this if she’d stayed.  He forced his pride down and let the heavy words tumble from his lips, though he couldn't meet her eyes when he said it. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she snapped, still agitated.

“For… everything. I never wanted to hurt you.  But, I did, and I'm sorry.”

“Well, it’s a bit late for that. And I _still_ don’t even know why you did it. For power? For some misguided notion of revenge?”

As tempting as it was to lie, Kylo sensed that honesty was the only safe passage through this storm. “Mostly the first… Some of the second.”

“You murdered our father… for _power_.” She winced in disgust.

“To defeat Snoke.”

Rey snorted. She could read him better than he thought.

“And… for myself.  Yes.  But, mostly to protect someone else.”

“You don’t have a very good track record in that regard.”

That casual remark cut him deeper than she knew.  His lip curled into a snarl.  “Well, everything was  _fine_ until you had to go and get involv—”

“I don’t need your _protection_. Just go! You don’t belong here.”

“It wasn’t for _you_ ,” he growled.  With the realization that he’d let his true purpose slip, he had to gulp down another lump of pride in his throat, “I came here to ask for your help.”

“What do you need _my_ help for?” Rey’s anger flared again. “You have your precious _power_ now!  So just go deal with Snoke yourself!”

Kylo snarled.  He couldn’t take much more of this guilt and humility routine.  He had been _manipulated_.  He did what he thought he _had_ to do.  He _knew_ he was wrong, but he’d be damned if he’d keep letting this girl rub it in.  Still, he couldn’t hold her gaze when he admitted through clenched teeth, “It didn’t work. It was a lie.”

“So, _you_ _fracked_ up, _you_ murdered our _father_ for _nothing_ , and you expect us to just come in and clean up _your mess_ for you? That’s not—”

“Who are you trying to protect?” Luke’s low, steady voice cut in, attempting to circumvent their fury before they got at each other’s throats again.  “Ben, if we are to trust you, you cannot keep holding out on us.”

“I told you, I’m not—” Kylo felt he somewhat understood his knight, Motu’s, frustration at being deadnamed by her enemies and having to choose her battles over when to argue the point.  He did not appreciate Luke’s refusal to see him as he was and address him by his chosen name, though now was not the time to fight over a name he wasn’t even sure really belonged to him anymore.  Hux’s pain had snuck in again while he was distracted, making him irritable.  Kylo changed tactics.  “I _have_ to defeat Snoke.  He’ll never leave me alone if I don’t.  And he’ll never stop hunting you two, either.  So it’s better for all of us to just join forces and be done with him once and for all.”

“There’s something you’re not telling us.”  Now that he’d hooked on to some deeply buried agony in Ben, Luke had no intention of cutting the line he’d cast.  Ben had hidden his true self from him before, and it had cost every last Jedi in the galaxy their lives. 

“Because it’s none of your business!” he shouted, and immediately regretted it.  His control was slipping.  The more his thoughts drifted toward Hux, the more intensely his pain crept back in.  His pain, and the knowledge of what they’d done to him.  Even now, over a week after he’d left the _Finalizer_ , someone was raping his husband _again_ , and Kylo knew that they hadn’t let up since that first brief reprieve.  He was furious.  He was hurt.  He was exhausted.

He collapsed to his knees, hand clutching at the robes over his heart as though he could reach in and rip it out and stop feeling these things forever.  “I can’t do this anymore! I shouldn’t have even come here!”

Rey stepped back, uncertain and afraid of what Kylo might do if he snapped, but Luke sensed the waves of torment radiating from within his nephew and approached him without fear.  He knelt in front of him, placing a hand on Kylo’s shoulder.  “Ben, please.  Share this burden with me.  Let us help you.”

Reluctantly, Kylo opened up to his uncle, letting him glimpse a small fraction of what he’d been feeling. 

Luke gasped at the revelation, tears springing to his eyes.  “Oh, Ben.  All this time… you’ve felt this.  And still you persisted.”  He had underestimated the young man.  Already, Ben had shown the courage and foresight to see his training through rather than run off half-cocked to rescue his friends as Luke had done so long ago.  He couldn’t help but admire Ben’s restraint.  It was a quality he hadn’t possessed before. 

It wasn’t atonement, but it was a beginning. 

He was ready.

“Please,” Kylo whispered, embarrassed by his weakness, but unable to bear it any longer. “I love him.  I _have_ to save him.  He’s suffering because of _me_.  I know I _fracked_ up, I ruined everything, but I can’t do this alone!”

“You won’t have to.” Luke pulled him closer and Kylo fell into his embrace, sobbing, exhausted, and relieved.  It had taken so much out of him to constantly keep up his guard against Snoke and to keep his husband’s agony at bay. 

*Rey—*

Luke’s voice in her head snapped her out of her dazed silence.

*—it’s time to go. I know you never wanted any part in this, and if you decide to stay with your mother and your friends, I won’t blame you.  But we can’t wait any longer.*

Rey’s brow furrowed with her conflicting emotions.  Though she hadn’t seen whatever it was Luke had experienced in Kylo’s mind, she could sense some of the agony he was feeling and knew that it wasn’t just his own.  Someone close to him was being hurt, and whether they deserved it or not wasn’t her call to make.  She had committed herself to whatever destiny lay before her, and she wasn’t about to give up now.  Not when Master Skywalker could use her help.

*I’m with you.*

Luke smiled, appreciative of her support, though she couldn’t see it.  _A week's training_.  It wasn't enough, but it was more than he'd ever gotten.  “It’s time for you both to finish your own lightsabers.  After that, we’ll go.”


	13. Chapter 13

Hux didn’t have to try to so hard anymore to send his mind away whenever the torture started up again.  Over a week of sleep deprivation, starvation, relentless agony, and desolation had taken its toll, and he often found himself confronted with the specters of his past.  Wisps of memory wove their way through his misery, always floating just beyond the edge of longed-for unconsciousness, disconnecting him from a reality too harsh to bear. 

But this was the first time he’d recalled something pleasant, and now that remembrance would be forever tainted by his body’s betrayal.  He didn’t want to sully the rare contented moments in his life, but he was so desperate for some warmth, for any small comfort, that he didn’t try to divert this delusion toward some other, more terrifying flashback, or even to use his meager strength to writhe away from the man pressed against him. 

At least this one was fucking him slowly.

He despised himself for allowing that to become some kind of acceptable standard.  He’d been violated so many times that he no longer cared, provided that it didn’t hurt so much or that they finished quickly and left him alone.  The ease with which he'd withdrawn back into the dissociative existence of his academy days frightened him.

Living with Kylo had spoiled him; he’d let his guard down.  Hux had always been used, in one way or another, for other people’s pleasure.  Making alliances, becoming a general, even scheming to become the Emperor -- where before he’d seen those as means to protecting himself, ensuring that this kind of thing never happened to him again -- he now realized they were nothing more than a temporary bandage, hiding the infected wound but never healing it.  Before Kylo, he had shut himself off, inured himself to the patterns of his existence; being abused wasn’t tragic, it was just normal.  Just the way things were.  He'd had no concept of what other children experienced.  That they were meant to be soft and vulnerable, loved and protected.  He only knew that he had few choices that he could control: he could be vicious instead of vulnerable, dismissive instead of afraid.  He could stop feeling, and then maybe things wouldn't hurt so much at night when he huddled in his bunk and battled his tears away until he fell asleep. And he could carry on without thinking about how much he deluded himself every day, or how harmful those delusions would be in the long run.

It was good that Kylo hadn’t come for him.  Hux had never been worthy of that man’s love.  _Or anyone’s_.  Even less so now, panting and half-hard at the unwanted touch of some anonymous guard.

“Are you actually getting off on this? You degenerate, dirty--”

_“Oh, you dirty thing…” a playful voice teased from behind, “You like this, don’t you?”_

_Hux gave out a tiny moan in acknowledgement, focusing on his breathing and the contrast of Jayden’s dark hand pumping over his flushed, pink cock._

_Jayden pushed him up against the hotel room window, his chest and the side of his face cold against the smooth transparisteel.  Hot puffs of breath formed dissipating clouds across its surface.  He arched his back to give his lover better access._

“You like everyone seeing you like this? Just some used up whore, like your mother?”

_“You like that they could look up here, any moment now, and see you like this. Captain Hux, on display for the whole city.”  Jayden’s other hand moved between his legs, his thumb tracing circles over his twitching hole while his fingers stroked lightly against the underside of his balls and pressed up into that spot that sent electric waves of pleasure through him.  Leaning closer to kiss and nip a fiery trail along the line of Hux’s shoulder, Jayden whispered, “Am I right? Do you want me to keep going?”_

_Hux gasped, multiple yesses catching on each breath, afraid that Jayden would stop if he failed to respond in time. But… any of the people passing by in the market square down below could glance up and see how wantonly he conducted himself.  Some of them were First Order officers.  Superiors, even.  He could get in trouble.  This was such a disgraceful way for an officer to behave.  His blush deepened, fluctuating between embarrassment and desire as Jayden’s skillful hands guided him toward release._

Hux couldn’t even tell himself that he’d tried to resist. He just rode the wave of despair until his shame dribbled out, leaving sticky, yellowed globs on his stomach and thighs.

“ _Fracking_ disgusting. What’s wrong with you?”

 _What isn’t?_ Hux thought.  He would have laughed derisively if he’d had the strength.

The guard continued fucking him, his gloved hand too tight around Hux’s softening, ulcerated cock.  It hurt more now that the image of his time with Jayden had faded and left him with nothing but contempt and self-loathing, and the acute reality of his pain.  He wondered how many diseases he had now, how much more feculent he could become.

With an animalistic grunt, the trooper pulled out and shot his stinging load onto Hux’s back.  Sparks of pain flashed from each wound as the cum dripped downward in languid trails over the burns and slashes.  

“He _fracking_ came! Can you believe it?”

“Gross. Better wash that off.”

“Eww, don’t put it on me, you _schutta_!”

“Probably got more diseases than the latrine by now. Just look at him.”

Hux cringed as the soldier returned and smeared the mixture of his and Hux’s cum across his face and into his disheveled, stringy hair.  Hux knew they were right.  He felt so dirty.  _So disgusting_.  His groin ached, and not just from the trooper’s rough handling; it had burned like lava pouring out of him the last few times he’d had to relieve himself.  He couldn’t see it -- couldn’t see anything since they’d blindfolded him (… _And when had they done that?_ ) -- but he remembered the sensation from before when he’d had to be treated, post-assault, at the academy.

To think he could look back on those days now and think that it had been _easy_ compared to this… a febrile half-sob, half-giggle escaped him.

“He’s gone _barvy_.”

“ _Kark_ , wouldn’t you be?”

“Better get one of the medics in here to make sure he isn’t gonna kick it.”

“Hose him down, first.  I heard they won’t go near him anymore, otherwise.”

 _Just let me_ fracking _die_.  He almost laughed again, at the absurdity that he could be shivering cold and yet sweating and burning up at the same time.  Maybe he _was_ losing his mind. 

Someone sloshed a bucket of icy water over him, exacerbating his tremors.  Despite the stabbing pain in his neck, he tilted his head back, desperate to get even a single drop of the brackish water to cross his cracked, swollen lips.  What was left of his tongue had dried to the floor of his mouth like the desiccated corpse of some dead animal in a desert.

They laughed as he debased himself, trying to mouth what few droplets he could from his shoulder or the grimy column in front of him.  The prickly stubble that dusted his jaw rubbed against his skin like sandpaper.  His jaw throbbed in response to the movement, but he kept at it anyway, panting from the effort.  He was so weak from hunger and thirst that he hardly had the strength to tremble, much less move of his own free will.

The next splash scalded him so badly that white flashes of agony burst behind his eyelids. He opened his mouth in a silent scream as the initial shock of it wore off and he felt the steam rising from his blistered skin.

Several minutes passed in anguish before he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.  Fear ruled the tense moment between two possible outcomes.  By now, he knew the routine: if they bothered washing him off at all he was either about to be raped by an officer, or tended to by a medic.  He’d long since given up trying to beg either for help.

This time the voice was of an unfamiliar, young woman. 

He still didn’t let his guard down.  Even some of the female troopers had assaulted him.  He didn’t know with what, but they could be as, or more, vicious than the men.  It wasn’t until he heard the soft beeps of a scanning device that he allowed himself to drift into what passed for sleep.  In his mind, he implored her for mercy, for a drug-induced haze that would give him even a moment’s respite from all of his pain.

He received neither, though he did get a few precious minutes of sleep while she refreshed his Bacta drip and checked his vitals.  She listened to his rapid, shallow breathing and hummed in disapproval.

“Well, he’s got a partially-collapsed lung.  I can pull out some of the air, but you’re going to have to be more careful breaking his ribs, assuming he has any left to break.  This will probably only hold for a few days at the most if he’s not going to be properly treated.”

The guards gave a grunt of disinterested acknowledgement.

The medic pushed something sharp into a space between his ribs and he felt a sickening pressure as if she were sucking out his breath.  She kept at it for a while, the pain in his chest actually decreasing a little over time, and finally rubbed a Bacta patch over one of the nearby fractures to seal the hole.  Hux felt like he could breathe a little easier, though with all the snapped ribs stabbing into him it still hurt. He kept hoping for some painkiller or, at the very least, a sedative even as he heard her close up her medkit.  Her footsteps continued around to the other side until he sensed her leaning close to his face.  Wincing in anticipation of more pain, he tried to appeal to her sense of compassion, but no sound would come out of his parched, raw throat. 

_Please help me! Please!_

Unable to make any sort of intelligible request, he succumbed to dry, hitching sobs of despair.

Her clinical tone didn’t alter in the slightest as she informed the troopers, “I think he’ll make it a few days more, three to four at best, before the infections alone kill him.  There’s only so much a drip can do.”  She moved away and left him to his anguish.  “If the Supreme Leader wants him alive for whatever reason, I suggest you keep the physical trauma to a minimum.”

The guards snickered, but grumbled their understanding.

Hux didn’t want to hurt anymore, but if it meant he would die faster, he almost wished they would beat him.  Break a rib and drive it into his heart.  Snap his neck.  Bash his head just a bit harder.  He wished he could talk, knowing he could goad them into killing him even without having to control them.  He couldn’t will himself to stop breathing -- he’d already tried that several times -- and it took all his remaining strength to draw even the shallowest of breaths now.  The Bacta drip must have been hydrating him just enough to balance on the precipice of death, but his thirst was maddening. Far worse than the hunger pangs that clawed at and shredded his belly like a trapped animal.

At least they might let him sleep now.  Finally.

Lost in his musings, he’d already started to drift off when he vaguely registered the ominous hum of an IT-000 interrogator droid and someone, or something, pressing a needle deep into the side of his neck.  It was neither painkiller nor sedative, but the fire that flooded his veins seared every nerve ending it passed over so severely that he passed out nonetheless.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Kylo followed the Falcon back to D’Qar, setting his shuttle down nearby on one of the many vacant landing pads.  The sun settled over the horizon in a blaze of pinks and oranges, casting long shadows across the rather empty staging area.  Either the base had been mostly evacuated, or they were even less of a threat after the battle over Starkiller than High Command had thought.  No one even bothered training a turret on him until it would have been too late.

Several Resistance fighters, with Poe in the lead, jogged up to greet the passengers disembarking from the Millennium Falcon.  Luke and R2 exited first, followed by Rey and Chewbacca.

“Welcome back, Master Skywalker.  The general sure is gonna be happy to see you,” Poe smiled, pulling off his oil-stained gloves and tucking them into his belt.

“She’s not here,” Luke said after a brief pause.

“No, sir. She went back to Chandrila to meet with the interim government and to get better treatment for our injured.  She left me in charge for the time being.” He extended his hand in greeting, “Commander Poe Dameron, at your service.”

“Commander Dameron…” Luke smiled, memory returning as he looked him over. “I once had the pleasure of flying with your mother.  The last time I saw you, you barely came up to my knee. Now it seems you’ve become quite the pilot yourself. Your mother would be proud.”

Poe blushed at the compliment, uncharacteristically flustered and momentarily distracted by the bittersweet recollection of his mother.  “Thank you. I certainly hope so, sir.”

“Sir?” One of the more observant soldiers alerted Poe to Kylo’s approach.

Made uneasy by his looming presence and arrival in a First Order command shuttle, their hands drifted toward their holstered blasters, though none of them seemed to know who Kylo was in his new robes and without his mask or signature lightsaber.  Poe, on the other hand, recognized his childhood friend almost immediately and moved in for a hug, exclaiming, “Ben! You’re alive!”

Kylo forced a smile and returned his former friend’s embrace, relieved that Poe hadn’t yet made the connection.  The others relaxed, but Rey frowned and glared at him over Poe’s shoulder.  Kylo almost quipped that that expression would become a permanent feature if she kept it up.

“Where have you been? Have you been with Luke all this time? Does your mother know?”

“I should probably talk to you about that in private.”

“Well, sure, buddy,” Poe said, stepping back and looking Kylo over again with a big grin.  “Come on in and get settled.  We’ll get you set up with some rooms and I’ll call the general and let her know you’re all here.”

They followed Poe through some ruins that disguised the entrance to the main control room, ducking under the hanging moss and natural stone outcroppings of the cave that the base had been carved into. 

“Where is everyone?” Rey asked as they passed through the mostly empty command center.

“Most everyone retreated to Chandrila after the attack on the Starkiller.  We were expecting the First Order to show up, but they never came.” Poe shrugged.  “Anyway, General Organa is trying to convince what’s left of the Senate to send us more troops and supplies.  It seems there’s a bit of a hold up on that.  No one wants to divide up what’s left of our fleet, but on the other hand, after what happened to the Hosnian System, no one wants them all in one place either.”

Kylo frowned, wondering why they hadn’t attacked yet.  Whatever the reason, it would give the Resistance time to rebuild, and make their own rescue attempt more likely to succeed, but something about it made him feel uneasy.  _Snoke must be up to something.  Even without Hux in charge, High Command would have wanted to take advantage of the New Republic’s weakness as soon as possible.  Could Snoke have thought me that instrumental to their victory?_

“We appreciate the hospitality, but we’re in a bit of a hurry,” Luke explained. “Ben’s husband is currently a prisoner of the First Order, and we believe Snoke is using him as bait to lure us in.”

Poe’s expression changed from his typically buoyant smile to one of concerned sympathy.  “Oh, Ben. I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do—”

“There is,” Kylo said, pacing about in irritation. “I need to outfit m—the shuttle with a Bacta tank and whatever medical personnel and gear you can spare. There are already the three of us, but we could fit in 3 or 4 more for back up.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you need. The med bay is just this way.”  Poe led Kylo over to the small area set aside for the infirmary.  At the moment, only a single med droid was present; an ancient FX-7, currently inactive, waited in the corner of the room. FN-2187 was nowhere to be seen, and Kylo briefly wondered if he’d survived or if he’d perished when the Starkiller weapon imploded.

“That won’t do. We’ll need a doctor. But I’ll start hooking up that tank.”

“Sure thing.” Poe commed for a crewman to come help, but Kylo waved it off.

“No need.  I’ve got it.” After disconnecting the main lines, Kylo took a deep breath, concentrating.  As he slowly exhaled, the tank began to rise, hovering and moving toward the entrance of the main hangar.

Poe let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s handy.”

Kylo didn’t acknowledge the comment, focused as he was on getting this done as quickly as possible.

Before long he’d installed the tank at the back of his shuttle.  It took up most of the space in the meager passenger compartment.  Poe came back with the necessary wiring, tubing, and other supplies and stood at the top of the loading ramp, arms folded, watching Kylo work.

“Your mother’s on the way back now.  She’ll be here in about ten minutes… There was something you wanted to tell me?”

Kylo’s shoulders tensed as he finished plugging in the main power and stood up to run the diagnostic systems check.  “Yes.”  Kylo turned to face his former best friend, reluctant to broach the subject but feeling that persistent, unfamiliar shame coiling in his gut.  He had no right to ask for Poe’s help after what he’d done to him.

“I… I’m not Ben. I mean, I was. I am, but—”

“I know who you are.” Poe’s expression was unreadable, though Ben could sense shadows of suspicion and anger darkening his mind. “I just didn’t want to alert the others. Yet.”

Kylo swallowed hard and stared at him, trying to keep his own emotions in check.

“If the Jedi trust you, then I suppose that’s good enough for me.  I thought I’d give you a chance to explain yourself; I owe it to our past friendship, and to everything your mother’s done for me, to give you that much, at least.”

“Where should I start?”

“An apology would be nice.”

 _Of course, what was I thinking?_ Kylo frowned, feeling stupid. “I’m sorry.”

“Listen, pal, I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing here, but I know what you’ve done.  For the Order, and to anyone who’s gotten in your way.  Including your own _father_.” Poe’s tone remained civil, but inside he was building up to a righteous fury.  “Do you have any _idea_ what that did to your mother? I can deal with what you did to me, but _her_? I swear to any god that ever existed, if you came here to harm her -- if this is some kind of trap -- I will end you.”

“I’m not— I didn’t—” Kylo stammered, for once at a loss for words.  He knew very well what Han’s death had done to his mother.  He’d felt her profound sense of loss even through the reaches of space, and it had devastated him.  “Poe, I’m sorry. I know I don’t have any right to ask for your help after what I did, but this isn’t for me. Well, it isn’t _just_ for me.” Hux’s pain slipped into the periphery of his mind and he shuddered, unaware that a tear had slipped down his cheek. “My husband… Snoke is torturing him to get to me. I have to stop him. It—it’s bad, Poe. I can _feel_ it. It just… _doesn’t stop_.”

Poe’s frown softened and he took a tentative step forward, putting a hand on Ben’s shoulder.  He was still angry -- and would be for a long time until they could sit down and work through this -- but the thought of someone else suffering as he had… he couldn’t justify denying his aid.  He’d joined the Resistance to lessen the amount of suffering in the galaxy, to do the right thing. Even if the right thing was hard as hell.

“We’re going to have some long talks when this is all done, but…” Poe sighed, “...for now, I’ve got your back in this.  If you really want to help take down the Order, well, that’s what we’re all about.”

A smile twitched Kylo’s lips and was gone.  “Thank you. I mean that.”

Poe regarded him for a long time in silence, then offered a tight-lipped smile of his own and clapped Ben on the shoulder. “I really think you do, buddy. Don't prove me wrong, ok? Let’s fix this.”

Kylo nodded, knowing he wasn’t out of the woods yet with Poe, but feeling relieved nonetheless.  If the rest of this ragtag band of misfits his mother had assembled were half as decent as Poe Dameron, then perhaps the New Republic had something going for it after all.  “Are you gonna tell the others? About me?”

The pilot shook his head.  “That’s on you.  I hope you’ll make the right choice.”

“Thank you, Poe. I will, just... not right now. I need to be there for my husband first, and I can’t do that if I’m in the brig.”

"I can understand that."  Poe nodded once before turning to leave.

Kylo stayed on his shuttle, sorting and readying the medical supplies until he heard the shrill _whoosh_ of engines throttling down and the squeal of an aging ship’s hull as its repulsorlifts settled it onto a landing pad. Luke and Rey had re-emerged from the base to greet their loved ones as the throng of soldiers disembarked.  Even in the distance, Kylo recognized FN-2187 as he and Rey rushed to hold one another.  He could sense their mutual attraction through the surge of light that surrounded them in the Force, and he realized he was glad the former Stormtrooper was alive and well.  At least, that was one less terrible decision he'd have to atone for.  Kylo found himself genuinely happy for them.

At last, Leia stepped out of the transport. 

The air of royalty had never truly left her, no matter how hard she may have tried to seem like just another person in her unadorned combat fatigues.  Her presence alone made her seem taller than she really was; Kylo had always thought of her as a giant among men, even when he’d outstripped her in height at the age of 12.  She moved slowly to close the distance between herself and her brother, regal, composed, savoring the bittersweetness of the reunion, before falling into his fierce embrace.  Soon all four of them were joined in a group hug, sharing the warmth of family.

Only Kylo stood apart, observing them from the ramp of his shuttle.

_She has Rey, now._

_What if she doesn’t want me anymore? Why would she?_

Fear, more than jealousy, clouded his heart.

The taint of darkness that surrounded his thoughts drew their attention as one.  They all turned to stare at him – the lone shadow amongst all their light.

Finn leaned in to whisper something to Rey and she took his hand and led him away from the group, following the others back to the base.  Luke stepped away as well, leaving mother and son to face one another across a distance that was more than just physical.

Leia watched him, her posture and expression as solemn and unreadable as the tumble of feelings he sensed inside her: denial, outrage, sorrow, regret, compassion, exhaustion, anger, hope, confusion, shame, but most of all, beneath the tumultuous waves, an undercurrent of love.

He knew his own face reflected everything he felt; he’d always been terrible at hiding his emotions.  Even if he’d had his mask, she’d be able to read him with as much ease as a child’s HoloNovel.  He could never hide anything from her penetrating stare.  So he stood and faced her, and hoped that she could feel everything that churned inside him as well.

Did she see that he ached to take back what he’d done? That he knew he’d have to live the rest of his life in regret, having been used, manipulated, played the fool? And worse, the shame that his father had been right, that deep down he had known all along, and had allowed it? But did she also see that _they_ had hurt him? Abandoned him to fight a battle he had been set up to lose before he was even born? Did she see his anger, justified by their neglect, though he alone bore the responsibility for how selfishly he’d expressed it? Did she see that he _had_ learned to love, to give of himself freely and without reservation, and the terror he faced at the prospect of losing that love forever?

She tilted her head as she watched all of these emotions play out across his exaggerated features.  That nose, those overly large ears, and the wide, trembling mouth that she’d waited so long to see him grow into.  She smiled the worn smile of a woman who’d weathered too many storms and been whittled down little by little with each passing gale.  She was tired of losing everything she’d ever loved or worked for.  Weary of the fight, unwilling to give up on her son for a third time, Leia opened her arms to him. 

Kylo all but ran to her.  Stumbling out of his ship, his vision blurred in the fading light by a well-spring of tears, he dropped to his knees before her, the penitent postulant beseeching her forgiveness.  Exhausted to the point of collapse from holding back all of his feelings, masking his Force signature, and keeping Hux’s torment at bay, he sobbed and blubbered out unintelligible apologies one after the other, a jumble of entreaties, wailing into the warmth of her embrace. 

Leia stroked his hair, shushing him as she had so long ago, when he was just a frightened child seeking comfort and protection from an unremembered nightmare. Sorrow weighed heavy in her heart.  He was no longer that innocent child, so full of promise and possibility, and a mother’s heartbroken forgiveness could not soothe away the sins he had committed.  Justice would have to be served.  But for now, he was just a lost boy who had found his way home, and Leia, a grieving mother once more. 


	15. Chapter 15

The thunder of nearby explosions heightened the little boy’s panic.  If he lay still and thought hard enough, he could almost convince himself it was just another storm rumbling through, the crack and flash of bombs nothing more than lightning striking the safety rods around the campus. 

As he huddled under his bed, cocooning himself more tightly in the covers, Armitage couldn't stop trembling.  He kept seeing the grisly image of that girl, that cadet that was his father's favorite, lying in the courtyard wide-eyed and staring up at the sky as her entrails slipped out onto the stones.  Even when his eyes were open he could see it, and now he could hear it and smell it, too.  She'd moaned something unintelligible about being cold while her hands felt around for her missing lower half and tried to pull what was left of her tunic down to cover herself in some dark parody of modesty.  The scent of death, of rot, its sharp tang seeping into his pores, poisoned him, marking him as he watched her die.

He knew he'd be next.

His bladder burned for release, but he didn't dare get out from under the bed or the safe haven of his blankets. That's when they'd get him. The next bomb, the next stray blast, just waiting for him to move, to reveal his whereabouts. It was silly. _Illogical_. Bombs and blasterfire didn’t seek people out.  He knew that, and yet he could not convince his body to obey his mind. 

His father had sent him and Tania out for just a minute, to retrieve a stray nerf that had bolted from its shattered pen.  The meat they could harvest from it could see all the survivors through another week of the siege.  They had to coax it back.  Armitage was good with animals.  They seemed to like something about him and usually followed his commands, and so he stepped out from the protection of the high, stone walls. 

 _It was only for a minute_.

But the bomb took only a second to achieve its deadly purpose.

If he’d not been on the other side of the young nerf, shielded by its sheer bulk, he would have suffered the same fate.

Even if father beat him for wetting himself, humiliation and pain were better than dying, scattered in bloody chunks among the stone debris of his home like Tania.

Fear sapped all strength from his muscles.  He told himself to stop shaking -- _don't let them see, never let them know you’re afraid_ \-- but he couldn't. Those savage, sand-speckled children were staring at him, grinning, salivating, hungry for his blood. He was hungry, too, and his stomach twisted and groaned, echoing their desire to be filled up with his scant sinew and scrawny bones. He was on the transport again, the Battle of Jakku booming all around him, with no recollection of how he'd gotten here. All he knew was that he had to get out, had to escape before the darkness consumed him. 

He smelled it. Death was coming.

_No. It's already here._

He'd become desensitized to the stench of his decay, but now, blindfolded by the guards, it resurfaced to torment him.  Hux didn't remember them covering his eyes, but all the same he couldn't open them, so his body tried to compensate by shifting the focus to other senses.

He was filthy.  Utterly dehumanized. The grime felt sentient, burrowing into his flesh and breeding there.  He could _feel_ it wriggling around.  Devouring him from the inside out.  He hadn't had much time to think about it before, the intervals between assaults too short to swap pain for disgust or humiliation.  But, now that he was too revolting to approach, even for the most sadistic among them, they'd left him alone to rot in disgrace.  He could feel his body and mind breaking down, coming apart particle by tiny polluted particle.  The guards had even ceased the sudden dousings of freezing or boiling water, having lost their efficacy at cleaning him up or restoring any sense of humanity to him. 

His mind wandered in a daze over his suppurated wounds and lacerated skin, never able to remain in one place for long before the stomach-churning agony that pulsed throughout the entire right side of his face called his attention back.  He couldn't (and didn't want to) recall what they'd done to him to make it hurt so.

There were a lot of things he couldn't remember now, but the reverberation of the turbolasers and defense turrets through the deck plates of the ship had become as much a part of his being as the unrelenting cold of space.  A battle raged outside -- had done for quite a while -- though he couldn't remember for how long.  He was fairly certain this wasn’t just another fever dream concocted by his addled brain in its dying stages.  No.  He knew that rumble.  He’d felt it in his blood, his skin, his bones since he was a small boy.  What he’d mistaken for the ruination of his homeworld was actually the retort of proton torpedoes and the vibration of turbolaser salvos.  The final attack on the New Republic had begun.  He could take some small comfort in that.  The Order would prevail, with or without him.

The ship -- _his ship_ \-- shuddered and listed from the violence of a nearby explosion. Sector alarms and evacuation announcements sounded.  Still enough of him remained present to become irritated at Doran’s incompetence wrecking his beautiful ship.  His _home_.  Klaxons blared, ringing in his ears and drowning out all other sounds. 

For the first time since this ordeal had begun, Hux thought he was alone on the parade grounds.  Fading into unconsciousness for perhaps the final time, he tried to quell the spike of fear and anguish that pierced his heart.  His thoughts turned to his husband.  The deep, soothing resonance of Kylo’s voice.  Even when he’d been saying something irritating and dismissive, Hux loved the sound of his voice -- ridiculously oversized and out-of-place like everything else about Kylo. 

Intrusive thoughts interrupted his reverie: it was all so unfair.  This should never have happened to him.  It wasn’t supposed to end like this.  Disgraced.  Forgotten.  Alone. 

_I had a destiny, damn it! It was on me to restore peace and order to the galaxy! I was so close! I was so--_

Overwhelming fear subsumed even that brief flash of anger. 

He didn’t want to die.  Moreover, he didn’t want to die alone.  He’d been so isolated for most of his life.  He wished Kylo could be here, even just in his mind, for his final hour.  At least it would all be over soon, and _alone_ meant that he’d _won_.  Kylo hadn’t come for him, despite the many heartrending rescue scenarios Snoke had tormented him with.  His husband was far away, safe from Snoke’s influence.  Perhaps he’d found Skywalker after all.  One way or another, it’s what Kylo had wanted all along.

If Hux could have smiled, he would have.


	16. Chapter 16

Chaos erupted around them the moment Kylo’s shuttle dropped out of hyperspace. 

Out the viewports, they could see that the _Finalizer_ , _Vindicator_ , _Imperialis II_ , _Praetorius_ , _Silencer_ , _Absolution_ , and _Invader_ were fully engaged in a life and death struggle with two enormous, egg-like constructions that seemed to serve as battle stations.  The enemy ships dwarfed even the _Finalizer_ in size and armaments, firing batteries of turbolasers from within their chitinous hulls that ripped into the deflectors of the _Resurgent_ -class battlecruisers surrounding them.  Smaller insectoid ships zipped by, engaging squads of TIE/sf and TIE/fo in dogfights, or ramming themselves into the shields and hulls of the capital ships in terrifying suicide runs.

“What the _frack_ is going on here?” Poe exclaimed from the co-pilot’s chair, reaching up to angle the deflector shields portside as Kylo dodged and knocked him back into his seat. “What in the Nine Hells are those?”

“Killiks,” Kylo said, unwilling to elaborate as he concentrated on diving toward the _Finalizer_ and reaching out through the Force to locate Hux.  His reddish-orange aura flickered at the heart of the ship like a tiny candle flame.  Kylo knew from the fading glow exactly where Hux was.  His stomach clenched at the anger that knowledge stoked inside him; Hux had been put on display in the parade grounds. No wonder his sense of humiliation had been so overwhelming.  Still, Kylo didn’t dare try to contact Hux, even for a moment, lest Snoke detect his true intentions.  Slapping the button to transmit his clearance codes, he prayed they would still be active. 

*Master, I've arrived, and I've brought a valuable prisoner.*

Kylo could feel Snoke's presence surrounding him, testing the locked and bolted door at the back of his mind, but there was no answer.

Tense moments passed while Killik Dartships whizzed by and explosions thundered around them; no one at the control station contacted them either, which was odd, but Kylo assumed they were too busy directing the battle to bother with a transport shuttle. They had probably been told to expect him, and anyway, unless Snoke had ordered otherwise, they had no authority to deny him even in the midst of a war.  Finally, the landing beacon turned green and Kylo headed directly into the main hangar on the underside of the ship.

At least in the heat of battle they were no longer at each other’s throats.  Two days aboard a cramped shuttle with only one berth and one refresher unit between 6 people had, at best, strained their already tenuous relations.  However, now that they were guided by a grim and clear purpose, everyone immediately set to their assigned tasks.

Luke and Rey sat cross-legged on the deck of the passenger compartment, deep in calm meditation, masking Rey's Force-signature and those of the other passengers. 

Finn once more donned his Stormtrooper armor with tense determination; he had only agreed to come along because he wanted to be close to Rey in case this was a trap -- Kylo Ren could take a hyperjump into a sun for all he cared.  The helmet was heavier than he remembered, though it was perhaps the weight of his conscience that gave the armor its own gravity.  He told himself that this needed to be done; that it was right, and that this was the best way to go about it.  Snoke and the First Order had to be stopped.

Dr. Kalonia made last minute checks on all of her equipment to be certain everything was ready. Once Kylo had taken her aside to describe the extent of his husband’s injuries, and, furthermore, entrusted her with the knowledge of who his husband was, she had insisted on accompanying them herself.  Though the younger medics she worked with in the Resistance were competent and professional, their shock and anger over the Hosnian system was still too fresh.  That, and they tended to be the more radical of the military personnel.  She wouldn’t take chances with Hux’s life, not only because it was her duty, but because she believed he should face justice before the people of the Republic, not be taken out in a singular act of vigilante vengeance.  From what she’d gathered, she doubted he could even survive the transport to the ship, much less the two days it would take them to return to Chandrila, but it was not in her nature to give up on a patient, especially one that had held out this long under such inhumane treatment.  He deserved to be treated fairly and with compassion, no matter his crimes.  Her battle wouldn’t begin until they escaped, but it would be just as difficult and perilous as the Jedi’s.

The _Finalizer_ rocked and rumbled as Kylo touched down in an empty space.  The instant the ramp lowered he was out and in the lead, followed by Rey and Finn disguised as Stormtroopers, and Luke as a hooded and cuffed prisoner.  A cacophony of sound greeted their arrival: alarms blaring; orders shouted out between officers, over the PA, and crackling through other comm systems; tromping boots; the chest-rattling rumble of turbolasers and torpedoes; the creaking of the hull in protest of the stress to which it was being subjected.  None of the frantic officers or running troopers stopped to challenge them, or even paid them any mind as they marched through the corridors, ever nearer to their destination.

The closer they got, the more a sense of dread built up inside Kylo.  He didn’t feel Snoke’s presence at all inside the ship, beyond the vague and ever-present awareness that he simply existed, always there at the back of Kylo’s mind.  _What if this_ is _some kind of trap? They’ll never believe that I didn’t set them up for this._   He detected Luke’s sense of unease as well.  Kylo feared losing the only help he had, but at least if he were honest with them and they backed out, he would be in the right.  _Small comfort_.

He directed his thoughts at his uncle.  *I don’t like this. Something’s not right. He's here, but... not. I can’t sense him. *

*Neither do I, but he’s likely as good as we are at masking his presence. If not better.*

They continued walking with purpose, giving off no outward sign of their wariness.  *What if it’s a trap?*

*I had considered that,* Luke acknowledged.  Kylo didn’t sense any accusation in his tone. *Is your husband here?*

*Yes, not much farther.*

*Alright.  Keep going, but stay on your guard.*

Kylo sighed, relieved that Luke at least was still willing to help.  He couldn’t be sure about Rey and Finn; though they followed along for now without question, performing their roles as escorts convincingly, he didn't know what they would do once they found out who his husband was.

It was getting harder and harder to tune out Hux’s suffering the nearer they got to him.  The purest fear Kylo had ever sensed -- raw, animal need to flee and find some kind of comfort -- emanated from him in waves so powerful they were almost visible.  Kylo’s heart pounded in sympathy.  His anxiety rose with the speed of the turbolift, convinced they would be attacked while trapped in such a confined space, but when the doors slid open no one was there waiting for them. 

There was no one in this corridor at all; a fact that did little to calm Kylo’s nerves.  He stomped ahead, faster, leaning into his usual menacing gait in the hopes that if they were spotted no one would challenge him.  Glancing about, he noticed that a security camdroid was following their progress, though if it had sent out an alert, he couldn’t tell. Crushing it would look suspicious, so he let it be for the moment.

The massive doors to the assembly hall were shut and locked up tight, but as he approached, the light on the door panel flicked from red to green and the portal opened. Wary, he called his lightsabers to hand and poked his head around the edge of the doorway. 

The carnage of a thousand battlefields could not have prepared him for the abject squalor and misery that Hux had been forced to endure.  Kylo’s hand went to his mouth in shock, but also to cover the smell.  The stench of rot, filth, and infection hit him like a hot desert wind.  It permeated the hall, stung his eyes, and sank into his soul.  This was the scent of despair, of hopelessness and death, and it would be forever associated with the man he loved. 

In the center of the parade grounds, naked, alone, Hux hung from heavy manacles attached to a stone pillar.  He wasn’t moving.  Even from this distance, Kylo could see bits of white bone poking through the bloody tatters of his back.  His arms and legs were bruised, distended, blistered, slashed, broken.  Blood, both fresh and congealed, had pooled into the smear of putrescence under him.   Almost every wound oozed pus and yet more blood -- Kylo didn’t think there could be that much blood in one human.  There was so much, surely it couldn't all be Hux's?

Just the thought of Hux's flesh being deliberately torn by someone was enough to procure a rage in Kylo so fierce he could have destroyed a legion with his hate alone.  But, not only had someone done that and more, Kylo had allowed it to go on every second that he’d put off rescuing Hux.  Completing his training, gathering Luke and Rey to his cause: these things had been necessary, but to what end? Snoke wasn't even here.  Hux had suffered for nothing.

Aside from Hux, the vast auditorium seemed to be empty.  They would be completely exposed once they entered, and there were hundreds of shadowed places in the stands or the rafters where attackers could be lurking.

Kylo cast about haphazardly for any sign of danger, but could not hold himself back any longer.  Sensing no one else in the stadium, he put his lightsabers away, dashed to his husband, and dropped to his knees beside him, eager and desperate to touch him, to comfort him, but there were very few places on his body that hadn’t been injured in some way.  Hux’s breaths came in shallow, strained gasps, though his throat closed in fear as soon as he sensed someone near him.

“Tage… It’s me.  It’s ok.  I’m here now.  No one’s going to hurt you,” Kylo whispered, worried that even the sound of his voice might harm him somehow.  He reached out a tentative hand to cradle the back of Hux’s neck, stroking his thumb in slow circles around that spot, just below where his ear met his jawline, that had always helped to sooth Hux’s tension.

Hux shuddered, coughing out dry, hitching sobs.  That touch.  That was Kylo.  The _real_ one, not some cursed vision of Snoke’s conjuring to torment him.  He had failed to keep Kylo away.  _Kill me…_  The wretched darkness of utter despair consumed him like a black hole.  _Please… let this end_.  The one thing he’d clung to, the last hope that had sustained him… gone.  _Please, Kylo…_  Now he would die knowing that he’d destroyed his husband as well.  He opened his mouth to cry out in anguish, but only a pathetic, rasping mewl escaped.

Hux’s cry, and the stray thoughts that Kylo picked up -- _Kill me. Please_. -- threatened to plunge him into a frenzy of rage and despair from which there would be no return. Only the mundane sound of someone vomiting behind him kept him tethered to reality. 

Kylo didn’t turn around to see who it was, but he heard Finn’s scratchy voice, tinged with incredulous disgust, “Is that… General Hux?”

Rey stood motionless, speaking mostly to herself in hushed tones. “They cut out his tongue,” she said, hand over her mouth as though to protect herself from the same fate.  Somehow, saying the words made it more real.  Hux looked like some kind of nightmare mirage in the desert -- a thought that reminded her she’d heard the name before, whispered amongst the orphan wildlings of Carbon Ridge: “If you’re out past sunfall, the Hux will take you!” -- a ghost story come to life.  But this shell of a man was nothing to be feared, aside from the hideous and indelible knowledge of the evil of others that this atrocity had inscribed upon her soul.

Ignoring them, Kylo hurried to untie the rancid strip of cloth that blindfolded Hux.  His breath left him as though he’d been punched in the chest by a rancor.

“Hux…”

Where Hux’s right eye should have been was nothing more than a ragged, gaping socket.  The skin around the edge of the grisly hole was ashen and cracked, having been burned down to the charred bone in places.  Angry crimson bubbled out from where his eye had melted and spilled trails of blistering, blackened ichor down the side of his face. 

His other eye had crusted shut with the salt of his tears and the purulence of some kind of infection, but appeared to be uninjured.  Kylo reached out as softly as he could to brush the detritus away so that Hux could see, but Hux’s sudden terror stabbed through his heart.  Every terrified whine twisted that knife further.  He wanted to recoil from Kylo’s touch but was too weak to move.

“It’s ok.  It’s me.  Tage, I’m not gonna hurt you.  I would never hurt you.”

Hux opened his eye reluctantly, seeming to focus on Kylo at first but then shifting to something behind him.  In the throes of delirium, his fear subsided and he rasped out a word Kylo didn’t know.

“ _Ama?_ ”

Rey knelt down beside Kylo, still in shock that Hux was even alive, much less trying to talk to her.  He repeated the word and tried to say something else, but without teeth and tongue to form proper syllables she couldn’t make sense of it.  She looked to Kylo, but he seemed just as confused.  Reaching out through the Force, she tried to understand what Hux was seeing in his fevered mind.  Rey had done this only once before outside of Master Luke’s calm training; during her interrogation she had searched out Kylo’s fears, and had been drawn into them as though they had called to her and sucked her into the recesses of his secret darkness.  There had been a heat inside Kylo’s headspace: a simmering, barely constrained rage and zeal, and a familiarity to his way of thinking. 

Hux’s mind was almost the opposite: sterile, ordered, cold, a stark contrast to his current physical state.  She understood immediately how profoundly this defilement had affected him, far beyond the physical aspect of his torment.  She gathered, from his mental imagery of a ship’s corridor -- uniform and symmetrical -- that his thoughts were normally arranged in precise locations.  But now, his thoughts and memories had been left unguarded.  Though a few doors seemed locked tight, others had slid open, beckoning her toward the darkness whispering from within each chamber.  Refusing to be tempted by the secrets they held, Rey followed only the sound of the voice she’d heard: the whimpers of a child from farther down the hall.

A small boy, shirtless, shivering, bruised, and bloodied, cowered in the corner of a dead end.  A network of thick scars striped his pale back.  He couldn’t have been much older than she had been when she’d been left to fend for herself on Jakku.

As she drew nearer, he turned and reached for her, crying out to her again.  The strange language resolved, clarified through the intensity of his fear. 

_Ama! K’tair! Ii nou’ma’duan! Cara atl’ii noum hasim, neh!_

_< Mother! The doors! I can’t close them! Please, don’t let him hurt me anymore!>_

At first, she thought the “him” meant Kylo, but then an older man burst from a nearby open portal, shrieking obscenities at them.  His fat features, contorted in rage, were framed by the same flame-orange hair as the boy's, heightening the image of a crazed demon.  He reached past Rey and snatched the boy up by his skinny forearm, gripping him so tightly she could hear the sickening snap of his thin bones.  She felt it, too -- a sharp jolt of pain and terror -- and cried out in unison with the boy as she stumbled back from the nightmare image and into an even more miserable reality.

Rey had survived alone as long as she had because she’d mostly shut off her sympathy for others.  In the desert, you looked out for yourself first or you died.  She had learned that the hard way, and it had taken several iterations for the lesson to sink in.  It was a simple, if arduous existence.  She helped when she could, if it wasn’t detrimental to her survival, but otherwise looked the other way and carried on.  Now, confronted with such agony, and such a heartbreaking plea for the sanctuary of family that she understood all too well, her lip trembled and tears spilled down her cheeks.

“He thinks I’m his mother…”

Gritting his teeth, Kylo wanted to berate her for snooping on Hux’s private thoughts, but he held it in so as not to frighten his husband any further.  His fleeting glare was enough to convince her to leave off, if what she’d witnessed hadn’t already deterred her from trying again. 

Finn realized he was just standing there, staring in disbelief and resentment, and snapped out of his funk at the sound of distress in Rey’s voice.  Irrationally, her compassion for this man stung him.  She didn't know the things he'd done.  The things he'd tried to make Finn do.  Finn _wanted_ Hux to suffer.  Hux had done his best to turn Finn into the same kind of ruthless monster that had done these things to him. 

_But that's just it, isn't it? He's already suffering, and if I let that happen to another... person... then he got what he wanted. Defecting means nothing if I allow their cruelty to follow me everywhere I go. It's nothing more than cowardice that made me flee, if I lack the courage to stand by my convictions._

He took his canteen and the hypospray of painkiller off his belt and passed them to Rey, who scrubbed the tears from her eyes and turned back to administer it. 

Though it wasn’t enough to stop his pain entirely, Hux’s frantic breathing slowed as the first relief he’d felt in weeks flooded through him. 

Kylo took the canteen and tilted it to Hux’s parched lips, being careful not to choke him.  He felt awful for withholding the water Hux so desperately needed, but he was in such a delicate state that he didn't dare to give him too much and risk making him sicker.

It was only enough water to soothe the desiccation in his mouth, but each cool drop that trickled down his throat coaxed out a whimper of gratitude.  Hux closed his eye again, on the verge of passing out. 

"Sleep, love.  We'll get you out of here."  With a gentle gesture, Kylo brushed aside a few strands of matted hair from his face and called on the Force, sending Hux into a peaceful oblivion.  Reluctant to pick him up, fearful that he might exacerbate his injuries, Kylo concentrated and lifted Hux with the Force, trying to keep him in as close to the same position as possible. 

“I’m getting him on the ship. Help me.”  The flat tone of Kylo’s voice brooked no arguments.  Luke and Rey moved to help without hesitation.

“What about Snoke?” Finn asked.  He had only agreed to this madness because he wanted to support his friend and keep her safe.  Kylo’s continuing omission of the facts both angered and troubled him.   _Would I have agreed to this if I’d known General Hux was the one being saved? Would any of us?_

Kylo’s fury hissed out between clenched teeth like steam from a kettle at its boiling point. “ _Frack_ Snoke! If he wants me, he can come _frelling_ get me!”

Rey and Luke exchanged glances; they could feel his anger rising as if the temperature of the room had shifted by several degrees.  Luke put a calming hand on his nephew’s shoulder.  “Let’s move quickly.  There will be other opportunities to go after Snoke.”

Still torn over rescuing the man who had helped make his childhood a living hell, _for_ the man who had nearly killed him, Finn gulped down his distaste (and his desire to snap back at Kylo) and got to work on cutting away the binders that shackled Hux to the pillar.  Whatever grievances Finn had with Hux, what he’d suffered here was far greater than anything Finn could have imagined doing to him anyway.  There would be a reckoning, but now was not the time.  Within a minute he had one of the binders open and gingerly removed Hux’s arm, grimacing as the ulcerated skin and scabs around his wrist peeled away and stuck to the cuffs.  From the other side of the pillar, he heard Rey’s sound of disgust and knew she was dealing with the same thing.

Deep in thought, Luke surveyed the parade grounds.  He didn’t believe Ben had led them into a trap, but he was also wary of Snoke’s deceptions.  His fetid presence seemed to be all around them, and yet nowhere in particular.  Diffused, somehow, through the Force.  An evil as great as his should have been easy to pinpoint, but it was like chasing someone through a dream -- the moment he reached out to grasp the shadowy form, the farther away it seemed.  Luke had never sensed the like before.  Uneasy and horrified by the things that had been done to Hux, Luke helped to float him while Ben cautiously wrapped his cloak around him.  He felt his nephew’s sorrow and anger growing stronger by the second and worried that it would consume him, bringing all his hard work to naught. 

With his uncle having taken over levitating Hux, Kylo set off toward their ship, fury intensifying with every stomp of his boots.  He couldn’t carry his husband in his arms, hold him, or hardly even touch him for fear of killing him, he’d been hurt so badly.  Kylo wanted nothing more than to unleash every molecule of hate in his body unto those who’d harmed him; he was hoping they would be attacked on their way out, that Snoke would show himself, just so he could vent his frothing rage toward someone who deserved it… but Hux’s safety was his priority.  Once more, his lightsabers snapped from his belt into his grasping hands.  He ground his teeth so hard they creaked, and breathed heavily to calm himself and keep his anger to a manageable level so that he wouldn’t be blind to approaching dangers. 

That camdroid was still following them -- the shiny, black ball hovering always just out of reach -- but Kylo paid it no mind.  He could crush it with the Force at any time.  As satisfying as that would be right now, he wasn't getting any sort of ominous feeling from it, and anyway, Snoke had more esoteric methods of tracking them.

Every now and then he glanced over his shoulder to check on Hux.  The few exposed bits of bruised flesh that he could see frightened and infuriated him even more.  He couldn't lose Hux.  Not like this.  Not in so much pain and terror.  Not when so much of this was his fault.  He was prepared to spend the rest of his life in penance for what he'd done, if only they would save his husband and spare him further indignation.

The group had largely ignored the commands given over the PA, but when the sector alarm blared and someone shouted, "Brace for impact!" Kylo reacted in an instant.  Luke quickly followed as Kylo dropped down and pressed his back and head up against the inner bulkhead, lowering Hux down between them.  Rey, who had seen what to do in some of her piloting sims, sat next to Finn and copied what he did.  Cringing, terrified of what a serious jolt might do to Hux, Kylo held him close, as gently but securely as possible.

The three Force wielders erected an invisible shield around the group seconds before the ship rocked backwards and the intersection ahead of them exploded in rain of fire and alusteel.  The flames subsided as the atmosphere vented into space, leaving a gaping hole through several levels of the ship.  Just as they started to feel the pull of the vacuum, automated systems dropped force fields between them and the wreckage.  The lights flickered before cutting out to the low-level, emergency red illumination.

A pre-recorded voice began calling out the damaged areas of the ship. 

They got up again, adrenaline surging after their near-death experience, and started to backtrack, moving fast. 

"Keep him close to you," Kylo called to Luke over the clamor of the klaxons.  Up ahead, the camdroid zipped around a corner, zoomed toward them, hovered for a moment, then moved away and hovered again as if waiting for them to catch up.  It seemed to indicate that they should follow it.  Even if it was a trap, at this point, Kylo figured it didn't matter anyway.

They set off after it, and though their nerves became as frazzled as the electrical systems of the ship as the droid wound them through sections of the _Finalizer_ even Kylo was unfamiliar with, it steered them true, eventually guiding them back to the hangar bay.  Kylo had never been so happy to see his ship.  He pulled Hux to him and sprinted to the lowering ramp, not even waiting for it to fully open before he dashed inside, floating Hux over to the doctor.

Rey and Finn tumbled in behind him, with Luke bringing up the rear, shouting to Poe, "We're in! Punch it!"

The ship lifted off and rocketed through the force field just as the loading ramp closed and sealed them in.  Even though his attention was focused on his husband, Kylo took a moment to appreciate Poe's piloting skills. He really could fly anything.

Though the shuttle veered this way and that, dodging to avoid incoming fire and other ships, Kylo concentrated all his effort into keeping Hux unconscious and hovering steadily while Dr. Kalonia worked to insert all the necessary tubing and medical devices to prep Hux for survival in the Bacta tank.  He followed every one of her orders without question, no matter how painful or embarrassing it might be for Hux.  She instructed Kylo to cut away all of Hux's tangled, matted hair, in order to check for and tend to any hidden head wounds, and limit his exposure to further infection.  He worked as fast as he could, though every time he encountered a scabbed-over patch where Hux's hair had been ripped out by the handful, he had to blink back tears of rage.

They were both so focused that neither of them even noticed Poe’s jump to hyperspace.  

Kylo knew the doctor would do everything she could to keep Hux alive, but it was frustrating to see his husband invaded by all of those uncomfortable-looking wires and tubes, and to feel so powerless to help him.

Luke lent his power to keep Hux supported and wished that he, too, could do something more. In all his travels and searching he'd yet to meet anyone or find anything that could teach him the secrets of Force healing. He'd heard that there was an even rarer Dark Side talent, but it had proven even more elusive than the supposedly commonplace Jedi technique.

Fortunately, Dr. Kalonia knew her craft.  Her hands moved like a hungry can-cell over a pond full of bloodfly larva, darting around Hux's injuries faster than her age belied. Even so, several hours had passed before she had sliced away, debrided, cleaned, and sutured what little she could, given the lack of equipment.  Once all of Hux's catheters, breathing mask, and IV lines were secured and double-checked, Luke and Kylo lowered him into the tank of gelatinous Bacta.  Hux looked so fragile, so vulnerable, so exposed, and Kylo's heart ached to see him like that.  Even as thin as Hux normally was, Kylo knew there existed a lean power under all that pale, soft-looking skin.  A brilliant mind guided by a beacon of determination and a powerful will.  No matter how weak Hux thought himself, it was his inner strength that had drawn Kylo to him in the first place.  Now he barely had the strength to draw breath, and every hitch in his shallow breathing set Kylo's heart pounding.

Having done what he could, Kylo hung his cloak over the front of the tank to give Hux some privacy and slumped to the floor beside it, exhausted.  Holding in all his rage and fear had burned through every source of energy and left him nothing but cinders and ash inside.  He leaned against the transparisteel and put his palm against the surface, surprised to find that it was warm.  That might at least bring Hux some comfort, he thought, since Hux was forever shivering in the chill of space.

Kylo frowned at the stray strands of orange littering the deck and felt another swell of sadness at the loss. It wasn’t important in the grand scheme of things -- he knew it would grow back -- but it was just one more insult added to Hux’s already crippling defilement.  There was no part of him that had remained untouched in this brutality.

Dr. Kalonia sank back into one of the passenger seats beside him, and finished tapping out her report on her datapad.  “Ben?” she kept her voice low, and he sensed in her tone the gravity of the difficult news she had to lay on him.  “We need to discuss your husband’s condition and prognosis.”

Kylo nodded, and Luke went up to the cockpit to give them some time alone, patting his nephew’s shoulder as he passed.

“Assuming he can make it to the hospital--” she held up a finger to quiet any possible arguments from him, “--and I think he can, though these next few days will be rough -- he's in for a tough battle. But, his heartbeat is still strong in spite of everything he’s suffered. He's clearly a survivor.” She offered a tired, sad smile. “This is a readout of his vitals from the tank monitors.” 

The doctor passed her datapad to Kylo so that he could take a look for himself. Finding it hard to focus, with teary eyes and trembling hands, Kylo took a deep breath and blinked several times to clear his vision.  He didn’t understand all of the specifics, but he remembered enough basic biology to know that what he was seeing wasn’t good.  Not at all.

Hux’s heartrate and blood pressure were fluctuating but stable, for now.  Despite his wiry frame, Hux had kept in shape with daily, pre-shift jogs around the _Finalizer_.  It seemed to have done him some good, endurance-wise.  However, his oxygen and electrolyte levels were still low, as were the functions of most of his major organs, which had become bruised and swollen.  Overwhelmed by infection and near-fatal dehydration, his kidneys had almost shut down.  His lungs had partially collapsed, having been punctured in multiple places by his broken ribs, though Kalonia had done what she could to re-inflate them with chest tubes.  And there were _so many_ fractures, burns, and deep slashes.  Everywhere.  Kylo traced his finger across the image of his husband’s tortured form and wished he could somehow heal him.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Dr. Kalonia continued.  “I cleaned as many of his wounds and field set as many of the fractures as I could, but, as you can see, some of them had already started to heal incorrectly.  Being in Bacta for two days will exacerbate that.  It will require multiple surgeries to correct them, and in some cases, I fear prosthetics may be the better answer.  I don't believe he will be able to take a functional replacement for his eye.  The nerves are likely too damaged; however, I'll defer that diagnosis to our prosthetics specialist.  He will probably lose his left foot; it's far too infected and the tissue has already necrotized in multiple places.  I know that’s a lot for you to deal with, but, as his husband, and with his inability to respond, you will be asked to make those kinds of decisions for him.”

“Me? I—” Kylo couldn’t imagine having to make such a monumental decision for Hux’s physical health over his mental health.  He’d always assumed, wielding lightsabers day in and day out, that he’d end up with a robotic limb sooner or later.  It didn’t bother him.  But, Hux… Hux placed so much emphasis on perfection, and equated his immaculate physical presentation with discipline, authority, competence, and order.  The outside was a direct reflection of the inside.  _If he thought of himself as un-whole… lacking, somehow…_ “I don’t understand. Why won’t the Bacta heal him?”

She reached out to tilt Kylo’s chin toward her and ran her fingertips over the thin scar bisecting his cheek.  “How long did this go without treatment?”

“It… well, Hux patched me up right away, but after I dropped him off, I just, sort of forgot about it.  I was adrift for a few days and… distracted.  It got infected.”

“Hmm,” she nodded. “I can see that. Still, you went only a few days without treatment. Your husband’s injuries have gone several days at least, over a week for some.  The Bacta will heal him, but he’s on the brink of sceptic shock, and because of that it will be working hard enough just to keep him alive.  Unfortunately, it’s going to speed up the incorrect healing of all the fractures and injuries I couldn’t get to without a proper operating theater.  The antibiotics I’ve started him on will help to clear out the infections, but the massive amount of medication he will need will also counteract a lot of the work of the Bacta.  It’s a two-edged blade, but right now, it’s our only choice to keep him alive.”

Kylo nodded, closing his eyes as he ran a hand over the smooth, warm transparisteel, wishing he could reach in and touch Hux.

“Just, be prepared to have to make some hard decisions.  Of course, we’ll do everything we can to save him, but right now, all of these infections are my main concern.  Especially those around the burn sites: his eye, his feet, and his back.  His hands and feet have suffered so much trauma, they will take the longest to repair.  From the difficulties I encountered inserting his catheters, I’m fairly certain he’ll need to be screened and treated for a number of STIs as well.”  She sighed, a deep and weary sorrow for the cruelty of humankind.  “Fortunately, his tongue has already started to grow back.  With proper treatment and therapy, he will be able to speak again, but I’m afraid his teeth will be the last things we can worry about.  In any case, he’ll have to be on a respirator for the duration of the surgeries and quite some time after that.  I don’t think his lungs can withstand much more strain, and this will relieve some of the stress his body has been put through.  Because most of these burns and other wounds will need to be debrided again, I’m going to continue his sedation and introduce a paralytic drug to limit his movement once we reach the hospital.  I’ll warn you: that can be frightening to see. He won’t be able to move at all, he'll be kept alive entirely by life support, and he'll require 'round the clock supervision and care.  Are you willing to go through all that?"

Though terror filled him at the thought of treading this sudden and unknown territory, Kylo answered without hesitation, "Yes. Yes, of course. Anything I can do for him."  He knew that he had no idea what he was getting himself into, or if he would even be up to the task, but Hux needed him now more than he ever had.  Kylo had never taken a formal oath to serve Snoke or the First Order, but he had vowed to devote himself to his husband no matter what circumstances befell them, and he intended to uphold it.  "Whatever he needs. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

The older woman sighed and smiled again, and patted his shoulder.  She had been a doctor for a very long time, and had seen many relationships put to the test over her long career.  _This young man ha_ _s_ _no idea how painful this_ _i_ _s going to be, as much for himself as for his husband_.  "His recovery is going to be a long, long process.  Even under the best of circumstances it will strain your relationship. It's going to be hard work, for both of you.  It will be a test of his dignity and patience, and yours as well.  This kind of trauma, even when the physical ailments are healed, or managed as well as can be, will affect the rest of his, and your, life.  His pain will make him say the most hurtful, hateful things, but you will have to be patient and understand that it’s just the fear and hurt causing him to say it.  You will want to protect him from pain and defend his pride, but you may have to do and say things that will hurt him, too, knowing that it will help him in the long run.  The sooner you understand that, the better off you'll both be."

Kylo nodded solemnly, his voice hitching as he explained, "He suffered all this because of me.  To keep me from Snoke's grasp.  He kept begging me not to come back.  To finish my training.  To defeat Snoke for good someday.  I'll do whatever it takes to help him."  More softly he added, "I love him."

Dr. Kalonia understood that people were still people no matter what regrettable things they'd done in their lives, but she couldn't understand how a good kid like Ben had fallen so far and ended up married to a mass murdering psychopath.  She couldn’t imagine what qualities Hux possessed that could make anyone love him, let alone the son of two heroes of the Rebellion.  General Hux stood for the very antithesis of her life's work, and though she couldn't see how, she supposed he must also be capable of love.  Whether she understood it or not didn't take away from the unarguably heroic act he'd suffered through to protect his husband.  She gave Ben's shoulder a final squeeze and took back her datapad before getting up to administer more fluids to her patient.

"You should get your rest. You're going to need it. I'll look after him."

Kylo situated himself in the berth so that he was facing the tank and could reach out a hand to touch it to remind himself that it was real, that Hux was safe now, and that they were going home.  _Wherever home_ _i_ _s now._

"Thank you," Kylo said, holding the doctor's sad gaze, "I know you had family on Hosnian Prime.  I’m sorry.  I know this must be hard for you, and I appreciate your help and dedication."

She regarded him for quite some time, not knowing what to say or if she should say what was in her heart. There was no justice adequate enough, nor anything either of them could do to make up for the grievous wound they'd torn through her life, or through the galaxy, but she did hope they would try to make amends somehow.  Indeed, hope was the only thing that had ever sustained anyone -- during the Rebellion, now, and forever.

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

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>  Part 2 is now finished! ^__^ Thanks for reading!


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